Tomorrow is for Never
by Gyrotank
Summary: Sequel to 'Malf-Life'. The air crash leaves Gadget the sole survivng Ranger, and she is finally able to see what she was previously oblivious of. The only bad thing is that it's all too late now. But turns out, it wasn't the end, but only a beginning...
1. Part 1 Yesterday

**Disclaimer:**

_All characters of "Chip'n'Dale Rescue Rangers" cartoon series are property of the Walt Disney Corporation and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment. All other characters and events depicted in the story are a product of author's imagination._

_Texts of songs "Crying In The Rain", "Early Morning", "I Call Your Name", "Slender Frame", "Rolling Thunder", "Shapes That Go Together" by a-ha are all property of their respected owners and are used without permission for the sole purpose of personal entertainment and needed mood creation._

'**Tomorrow' is for 'Never'**

by Gyrotank

**Part 1**

**Yesterday…**

**1**

"Whatever you say, this June turns out being!" Dale exclaimed, addressing himself. Inspired with this deep and more importantly finished thought, the chipmunk opened the bedroom window wide, letting the morning breeze in. The flow of air stirred up the curtains, which badly needed laundering, then swept over the room like some cool and dusty wave and gradually turned into a draft and strolled through the lower floor.

"Close the window, Dale! It's drafty!" Chip cried from the corridor. He had just taken a shower-bath and wasn't very pleased with a sudden cold wave rushing by him.

"And Gadget says fresh air's healthy!" Dale shouted in reply, still fanning dust clouds away and promising himself to wash the curtains tomorrow.

"But that draft isn't! Go ask her!" One cold-shuddering Chip trotted to the wardrobe and rapidly pulled on his jacket. It would be very foolish to catch a cold with fine weather like this. And on a long-awaited day like this besides…

Dale coughed out his reply. "I would go and ask her if she weren't in her workshop all the time. Almost a month already…"

Dale's words made Chip sigh sorrowfully. Gadget had indeed been devoting too much time and attention to her devices. Apparently, the many apparatuses she'd seen in Bottlebottom had impressed her so much she decided to reproduce at least some of that equipment, if not all of it.

Certainly, the other four-fifths of the Rescue Rangers understood that the inventor didn't do anything for no purpose (that is, if she didn't get too carried away with something), but they hadn't seen such an all-consuming paroxysm of creative research for a very long time and maybe not since their very first meeting. They suspected that was how the beautiful mouse's way of life had looked like before they met her, because the conglomeration of all those Salesman Traps that nearly killed them at that time could have been only the result of some very ungovernable enthusiasm.

But they couldn't bring themselves to tell her about it. Though sometimes Gadget showed wonders of self-control, firmness and determination, she was nevertheless very tender by nature. Right now she seemed separated from them by some kind of crystal wall and no member of their team would dare try breaking through it. The razor-sharp splinters of this wall could easily sever that very thread, that web-thin cord which made them all something immeasurably more than just a group of two chipmunks, two mice and one fly.

The Rangers had some very bitter experiences to prove it. Once Gadget left, being dispirited with failures and accidents; once Monty left, being bewitched by Désirée D'Allure's vicious charms; Zipper left, being offended with unmerited faultfinding; even Dale left, dizzy and egotistical with super-powers…

Although the thread endured and everything fell back into place, nobody wanted to take chances any more. Even Gadget with her vast knowledge of physics, mechanics and materials resistance theory wouldn't be able to calculate the durability of this invisible bond way beyond the boundaries of the physical world. She surely could say from the loftiness of her realism that a spider's web was twice as strong as steel fiber of the same diameter, but it's common knowledge that occasionally even a slightly careless movement is enough to tear it apart…

Overwhelmed with these thoughts, Chip pulled down his fedora over his eyes and left the room. Dale put on his Hawaiian shirt on the move and followed him as he barely missed a collision with the door-post.

Today was Monterey Jack's kitchen shift and as always the cheese could be smelled all over the headquarters. Monty wore his white apron and chef's hat of the same color as he concocted his culinary magic over two pans.

"Good morning, Monty!" the two friends simultaneously said, taking their seats at the table.

Monty gave a jump as if stung, spit three times over each shoulder and put out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror-scrubbed frying pan hanging right in front of him. Then he grabbed some odd things from the table, did a couple of elaborate gestures and only after all of this turned to the confused chipmunks.

"What's with you, Monty?" Chip asked.

"It's nothin' with me! But with ya! Don't ya know how one shouldda behave on a day like this?"

Chip thoughtfully scratched his chin. Dale no less thoughtfully knocked at his nose and picked his ear. The Australian sniffed scornfully but deigned to educate them.

"Today's Saturday" he whispered as he pointed at the big wall-high loose-leaf calendar in the corridor: "The thirteenth!"

"Oh my, and that's all? And I thought…" laughed Dale, who was afraid of the thirteenth day only if it coincided with Friday, a lake and a dark forest.

"How can you believe in all this, Monty?" Chip shook his head. "You've been all around the world. You saw so much we can't ever imagine! Different cultures, habits… Didn't it teach you anything?"

"Yeah, ya two have to go and do all da same!" Monty drawled. He turned back to the cooker, opened one of the pans and started vigorously stirring its contents. Even too vigorously, for the splashes flew all over the room.

"Where do we have to go?" Dale asked.

Chip chuckled as if saying "It's elementary!", though he didn't get what Monty meant either. But unlike his expressive friend, Chip always tried not to show his lack of understanding. Dale can torment himself over it; rack his brains if he wants to…

"Ya speak just like Gadget, word fo' word!" Monterey Jack eventually answered once he finished stirring the cheese soup and getting the plates from the shelf.

"Has she gotten up already?" Chip wondered. "It's only five past eight, and considering that the noise from her workshop lasted till midnight…"

"Till two at the morning!" Dale corrected him. "It was two o'clock when I finished reading my 'Super Hippo' comic book, and the sounds were still there…"

"I know, I barely fell asleep" muscle mouse nodded. He placed steaming plates in front of the friends, took off his cap and sat down across the table. "And barely managed to get up to prepare everythin' for breakfast. And at seven or somethin' like that she came to the kitchen, swallowed a couple of sandwiches and went back to work!"

"AT SEVEN?! She's staying in there all day long! We've got to do something!.."

"Well…" Monty gave a mysterious wink at the chipmunks, "she agreedda go to the hockey match with us!"

"WHAAAT?!" Chip and Dale shouted and sprang to their feet, nearly turning the table over.

This game already had the note of legend long before its start—the Stanley Cup Final featuring the Michigan Red Stars and San-Angeles Rangers. The seventh decisive game of the series, already declared one of the most tense and implacable in all the NHL history. This final had it all: unscored penalty shots, holding leads while doubly shorthanded, impossible saves, unbelievable and inexplicable goals…

This epic struggle just couldn't be missed, especially this time when their home city's Ice-Dome Sports Arena was chosen to host it. Such an opportunity just couldn't be missed, so Monterey Jack and Zipper found out everything about the time and the place and reserved the best seats possible — on the upper circle of the sixth sector, from where the panoramic view on the whole rink and two videowalls in the corners showed every replay in gigantic glory.

And the hockey match with Gadget and the hockey match without Gadget — that's two completely different hockey matches…

"Are you sure?! She said that?! You heard it right?!" Chip started finding out.

"You didn't confuse anything?! You sure it was Gadget?! Weren't you just imagining?! Maybe Zipper said it?!" Dale argued.

For a moment a shade covered Monty's face. The tips of his sumptuous moustache lowered a bit and his smile withered. "Well, actually…"

"What?! What?!"

"I got it that way in me head…but I'm not sure now…"

"Recount your conversation with her in full," Chip demanded. The euphoria that gripped him since Monty's first historical remark after these words completely faded away. His head cleared up and he appeared calm and staunch, though he felt a great cold burden in his stomach as if from some grim premonition. The premonition of great disappointment…

"There's nothing to tell," Monty protested. "Me standing here cooking, Gadget enters. 'Good morning!' I took all necessary precautions against the hex. She didn't even notice, though. Only when I said 'It's Saturday the thirteenth today!' did she answer, 'How can you believe in all this? You've been all around the world…'."

Monty crossed his arms, resentment on his face. "Same as you, just like that. That's why I said that ya too have to go all the same so's you'll know… Well, what was that about? Oh, yeah! So I ask her 'Gadget luv, I hope ya didn't forget about us going to the match today?' And all of a sudden she agreed! I couldn't believe me ears! Here, here, I even wrote it down!"

Monterey Jack dashed to the kitchen sink full of plates. After looking through them and finding nothing, he looked around bewildered. Then, having remembered something, with a joyful scream he took the frying pan hanging in front of him from its nail and ceremonially put it upside down on the table. Chip and Dale stared at the pan for a moment then exchanged puzzled glances.

"And?" Chip asked.

"Ya know, I was so startled I decided to immortalize her words for generations to come. And there was nothing on hand but the cheese wheel and crockeries! So I wrote them down oh the pan! Here!"

These words said, Monty turned the frying pan over and now the chipmunks saw letters scripted in bold yellow lines.

"'Yeah, sure, that's just what's needed!'" Chip read slowly.

"Great! Marvelous! She recovered! She remembers about the hockey!" Dale went on capering over the kitchen.

Chip felt an urge to follow his example, but some little worm of doubt troubled the leader of Rescue Rangers. His detective instinct suggested that this situation needed careful investigation. Something was wrong. It was all too good to be true.

"Gadget didn't say anything else, did she?" Chip finally asked the question which he was afraid to ask but couldn't resist asking.

"To me — nothing!" Monterey Jack answered quickly. Too quickly. As if fearing to scare the beautiful fleeting image away. As if clutching at straws. Chip sensed it so pronouncedly that he felt himself chilled from inside out.

"Stop playing the detective, Chip!" Dale exclaimed. Tired of kitchen jumping, he flopped down on the chair and began eating hastily, as though it could have drawn the start of the hockey game any closer. Chip paid no heed to his words though. He had understood everything already. It remained only to clear up some details.

"What did she say to herself?" Chip pressed.

Monty strained his brain and squinted his eyes. "Somethin' like 'Maybe I should try and move… _thingy_ and… _whazzit_ into the antiphase…' I'm sorry I didn't remember everythin', the words were too complicated fo' me…"

"I got it. Thanks." Chip took the spoon and started slowly digging up his long since cold and thickened cheese soup.

"So ya too think that she…" Apparently Monty came to the same conclusion as Chip did but was just as afraid to take them for granted.

"One hundred to one she didn't hear your words at all. Okay, enough about that."

"Well, maybe she'll 'ave everythin' done by four o'clock and go with us after all?" Monty wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Do you yourself believe in it? She has so many details and blueprints piled up there, it'll last her months if not years of work. Even the aircraft scrap yard has less junk!"

The Australian stayed determined. "But we must try to persuade 'er! She needs some rest! We'll wait till 4 PM… No, till dinnah! She doesn't forget to have a dinnah… yet. But," he glanced at the calendar in the corridor and sighed, "I doubt we'll get lucky on a day like this…"

**2**

Since no one could foretell when exactly Gadget would tear herself away from working and remember of the necessity to eat at least something, our friends knew they wouldn't get anywhere without some efficient teamwork. Chip, as always in such cases, took initiative into his paws and they discussed and agreed on their plan for almost an hour, nearly as long as the actual preparations.

Dale and Zipper were to act as a long-range detection and early warning system. It was impossible to observe Gadget directly in her workshop because of windows being absent there, so they had to lie in ambush on the branch across the window of the room adjacent to the workshop and be all four of their eyes. Immediately after Gadget leaving the room and heading to the spiral slide, Zipper should fly as fast as bullet into the gym, where Monterey Jack is strenuously imitating sport indulgence. Together they leave the gym and head to the kitchen 'to have some water drink' while emphatically and loudly discussing the weather. Having heard their voices, Chip walks out of his and Dale's room and also heads to the kitchen 'to have a bite'. If there is no Gadget there, he exits into the dining room and waits for her there. If she has come already, he speaks to her on a random topic, holding her in the kitchen until arrival of the main forces consisting of Monty, Zipper and Dale. The red-nosed chipmunk will have enough time to abandon no longer needed observation post and join the others by entering the kitchen through the hangar. As a result, all exits from the kitchen become blocked and Gadget has no way to go. Such unexpected and, at first glance, accidental advent of everybody seemingly from nowhere and from all sides at once must, for one thing, attract mouse's attention and, secondly, stagger her slightly, which will make the impending subtle psychological indoctrination more effective. By and large, it should have worked. But the Rangers didn't take several factors into account…

The first of these factors was the ant colony settled on the observation branch, which laid their road right over Dale, who had already tied himself to the branch for greater reliability. Unequal fight with assertive and, more importantly, biting insects ended for Dale in technical knock-down, which consisted in him hanging upside-down from the branch swaddled with his own rope. In this position he obviously wasn't able to watch over the room nor, and that was the most doleful, to block the hangar doors in time. The chipmunk and the fly had to change their strategy in passing (or, rather, in hanging and in flying correspondingly). Now Zipper had to wait for Gadget coming out, then warn Monty, and after all that said and done — to enter the kitchen through the hangar. Well, never mind. Zipper could fly very-very fast if needed to…

The moment Gadget left the workshop, Zipper flew out the window where he was stationed toward the gym with all his wings' might, where Monty idly punched the punching bag, prepared to guide Gadget into the kitchen. But the gym window suddenly turned out to be locked from inside. He commenced beating at the glass to draw Monty's attention, but Australian tired of the long wait and decided to have a snack of his favorite cheese and heard no rattle.

Zipper realized that Monty could be influenced by physical force only and flew into HQ through the hangar doors. But no sooner had he entered the kitchen than he met Gadget there.

"Oh, hello, Zipper!" the cheerful mouse greeted him.

Zipper was absolutely unprepared for a one-on-one conversation with her, so he squeaked then flew through the dining room into the corridor. The stunned inventor followed him with a bewildered gaze.

"What's with him?" she asked herself. "Do I look so bad? Maybe I should go to bed earlier…"

Waiting at his room's door, Chip heard Gadget's voice and froze in perplexity. How did she manage to outdistance Monterey Jack so much? Could Dale and Zipper have failed to notice her leaving the workshop?

Well, be that as it may be, it's time for his entrance now. He must hold Gadget in the kitchen until the others came. Chip loudly cleared his throat and stepped out of the doorway. And in that very moment Monty's noisy strides were heard from the stairs. The muscle mouse ran so headily he didn't react upon the Rescue Rangers' leader coming out.

Chip had too little time to jump aside, and the corridor was too narrow for them to pass by one another. They collided and barely squeezed through the kitchen door, clearly not meant for a workload like this. In a mass they tumbled into kitchen like an avalanche, rolled on the floor across the room and came to rest against the cupboard. The wood cracked and crockery rang.

Gadget was completely dumbfounded and just stood still near the kitchen table with a sandwich in hand and her mouth wide open, looking at her crumpled and heavily breathing friends.

"Chip?! Monty?! What the heck…" she began, but the battle cry "Rescue Rangers, away!" was heard from behind accompanied by glass shattering.

Gadget turned at the sound and saw Dale bound hand and foot flying into the kitchen. He managed to swing back and forth on the rope quite enough to break the rope and fly as far as the nearest window. The kitchen, only a minute ago having been the embodiment of order and cleanness, now looked like battlefield covered with debris, some wounded men and one POW.

"Oh Golly! What's going on here?!" Gadget finally asked when her initial stupor subsided and her gift of speech returned.

"Emm… well… you know…" Chip babbled vacillatingly crouching from under Monterey Jack.

"Yeah, Gadgie, don't ya pay attention, we just, to put it that way, emm…" Monty took up.

"Came to have a snack?" the irony could be distinctly discerned in mouse's voice.

"Yes! That is, no!" Monty waved his hands. "I came to drink some watah! Morning run made me so thirsty… Hey, Zippah, am I right? See, I'm right!" He pointed at the fly nodding his head amuck.

"And me… I… got hungry indeed. So I decided to have a couple of sandwiches…" Chip answered, carefully hiding his eyes. He couldn't stand telling Gadget even little white lies to her face, even with good intentions.

"Okay, I got it. And you, Dale, you decided to wash some windows?" Gadget asked as she helped the chipmunk out of the ropes.

"Yeah, that's right!" Dale eagerly agreed not noticing a trap he was falling right into.

"And where's your duster, soap, and water bucket?" Gadget asked innocently.

"Duster? Soap? I don't know. There was no soap in our plan… Oops!"

Dale abruptly stopped in confusion. Chip covered his face with the hat. Monterey Jack pointedly clattered the plates. Zipper pretended to study some spots on the wall.

Gadget turned to Chip, her arms crossed, and said in the strict voice boding no good at all, "Plan? So this was a plan, huh? And what this plan was for? Tell me, Chip! Plans are right in your line!"

Chip was silent for a while collecting his thoughts and planning what he'd do to Dale later. He'd planned an ardent and heartfelt address in the vein of a revered leader to his discouraged brothers-in-arms, but now it turned out to be something like a naughty pupil's confused explanation.

"Gadget," he managed at last, feeling that the pause had dragged for too long already, "we are all very worried about you. It seems to us that you've become too carried away by your work. It's very useful and interesting, to be sure, but it's also—let's say it this way, too demanding in terms of time and effort."

So far, no good he thought when he saw Gadget's unchanged expression. "Gadget, we all start feeling that you're becoming too estranged from us. And we are very concerned about it. I can even say that we're scared. We, as a team, we've gone through many so many hardships. I believe that the invisible link between us is strong enough to endure even harsher things but it doesn't make it any less scary. With each passing day we see you more and more seldom. And we rarely hear your voice, your laughter…"

As he spoke, the angry expression disappeared from Gadget's face, giving place first to interest, then to intrigue and finally to deep compassion. Even Monterey Jack and Zipper stood still, listening.

Chip felt he was on the right path and inspired by this went on. "We miss you. I miss you…"

"Come on, Gadget, let's go to the hockey match today!" Dale blurted out. "We haven't been out for a very long time, and the match promises to be simply fantastic! And you know, tomorrow A-Kha will have a grand concert in our city! One performance only! I've already looked for the seats! I'm pretty sure you'll like it…"

Gadget was just about to answer when Chip rushed up to them, enraged by his friend's so impudent meddling. "DALE! How could you! You spoiled everything! You… you…"

"Oh, stop it!" Dale retorted. "Your intro was too long and I decided to cut it short! After all, that's why we did it anyways, to get Gadget to join in!"

"And what's with this concert? You think we don't know what kind of music you like? Shouts, screams and noises! Gadget won't listen to that!"

"You're the only one shouting and screaming around here!" Dale got deeply indignant. "You've never heard A-Kha's songs, so don't say so!!"

"Right, I don't need to hear them! I had quite enough with Iron Goose, thanks!"

"Don't compare them!!" Now the red-nosed chipmunk got really mad. "You don't know anything! A-Kha is great! They wrote the theme song for the Dirk Suave movie!"

"So why didn't you say it from the very beginning?! That's what I call the best reason to avoid them like the plague!"

Dale flew into a rage and grabbed Chip by the collar of his flight-jacket. Chip did the same, and they raised fists to exchange punches when Gadget seized the chipmunks by their arms, dragged them apart and stood right between them.

"Chip! Dale! Guys! Look at yourselves! What the heck are you doing?! Chip, you've said so many right and smart things about the team, and now this?!"

"Oh, nothing, I just, simply… I'm sorry, Gadget" Chip dropped his eyes.

Dale grinned exultantly, but then Gadget turned to him and the chipmunk had no ground to laugh anymore.

"And you, Dale?! Start fighting at every trifle, don't you?! You should know that it's impolite to interrupt others! You should apologize!"

"Me?! Let him apologize first! This musical bore compared Iron Goose and A-Kha!!"

"Me?! How dare you…" Chip growled.

Gadget, having understood that this could go on forever, without any word embraced both chipmunks. The friends instantly calmed down and forgot about everything. For a minute or maybe more they just stood there in silence, then the mouse between them spoke quietly.

"Guys!" Gadget said, a measure of pain in her voice. "How could you ever have thought that? That I'd forget you, that I exchanged you for mechanisms? It will never happen! Do you copy?! Ne-ver!"

"Yes, we do copy," Chip answered, now much calmer, "and we never doubted it. I never doubted it."

"So what's about the hockey, Gadget?" Dale interrupted again, but this time Chip restrained himself. First, it was inconvenient to fight with Dale being embraced by Gadget. And second, but most important, he himself wanted to hear the answer above all…

Gadget relaxed her arms, stepped a bit back and looked into their eyes. "My dear friends! After all these words, all these efforts you put forth to knock until I heard you… After all these things said and not said… I really want to go with you, believe me…"

"But ya won't," Monterey Jack standing at the cupboard and tousling some amulet of vague shape said "'Cause right now ya are at the very crucial stage of yer research which can't be interrupted or put off at a later time. Am I right?"

The inventor blushed.

"Monty, how do you…"

"It's pretty simple," Chip answered sadly. "Yesterday you said the same."

He took her hand off his shoulder and slowly went away to the table. "And the day before yesterday. And the day before that…"

"We haven't heard anything else from you in a month!" Dale was harsher than Chip, but there was sorrow, not anger, in his voice too. He walked up to the devastated cupboard and started gathering smithereens of broken plates. It was so out of his character that there couldn't be any doubt of his disappointment and depression being truly boundless.

Gadget stepped forward, her whole form marking her protest. "But listen to me, guys! When I complete my work, our abilities will be beyond imagination! You'll see it for yourselves!"

"I'm sure you're right." Chip heaved his head. "But isn't it possible to make time for a break just for a single day?"

"Golly, we'll have plenty of time when I finish!"

"But the game is today!" fedora-wearing chipmunk exclaimed. "I understand that you can go for a picnic or to the amusement park anytime, but the game won't repeat!"

"And neither will the concert!" Dale kept the pressure up. "They seldom tour in America, and they probably won't ever come here anymore after this!"

"Point taken, but…please, give me these two days. Only these two days. I'll cope with all of it! I'll complete everything, I promise!"

Four Rescue Rangers exchanged glances and simultaneously sighed heavily.

"Well, if ya say so…" Monterey Jack approached Gadget and tapped on her shoulder. "We aren't some beasts who don't understand. Sure, work on. Ya make very useful things and you've saved our lives with 'em more times than I can count. When they worked as they should 'ave, at least—okay, let's go lads! It's time to get ready!"

Monty along with a downcast Zipper sitting on his shoulder left the kitchen. Two chipmunks slowly followed. Already in the doorway Chip looked back at the inventor standing alone in the center of the wide kitchen.

"Maybe, however...?" he asked quietly.

The mouse only shrugged her shoulders. Chip sobbed shortly to himself and left the kitchen completely robbed of spirit.

**3**

"If ya manage to finish earlier neverth'less, well, just suppose it, come an' find us in Ice-Dome. Sector six, by the first stand girder. Seat's reserved, no one will occupy it, we'll see da it! The sector numbers are marked with big numbers on the walls, so you can't miss it. Yer ticket's on the table in the hall."

With that, Monterey Jack, covered with his lucky talismans of different shapes and sizes, stowed a bevy of snacks on the backseat of the Rangermobile. That way, there wouldn't be an urge to go to the buffet during the break through the crowded sports complex.

Gadget just nodded quietly. She knew that nothing could ever hurry nature itself. The engineering procedure she had started just couldn't come to an end before nine that night…

The Ranger Wing wasn't quite working at the moment, so the friends decided to take the Rangermobile which they planned to leave in the bushes on the edge of the park encircling the square around the Ice-Dome. The ticket prices for the good seats were much cheaper than human ones, nevertheless they were quite high and only such bigwigs as Fat Cat or Capone could afford booking seats in the VIP-zone (on the roofs of the human VIP-zone and commentary studio).

Tonight, that wasn't a problem—during one of their last cases the Rangers uncovered a very intricate affair and averted the bankruptcy of Benny Hilton, chief manager of the arena's rodent zone. And when he was told that Monty and Zipper came to Ice-Dome inquiring about tickets, he personally insisted on covering all expenses.

Though the Rescue Rangers always worked gratis, Monty and Zipper concluded there was nothing wrong with complying with the old rodent's request and accepted his offer.

The chipmunks appeared, dressed up for the match. But while Chip just bound a blue and red muffler with a San-Angeles Rangers emblem around his neck, Dale decked himself out like a true ice-hockey player, lacking only the skates. The conglomeration of various pads hindered his movements, the hockey stick constantly tangled his legs, and his visor kept on slipping over his eyes but like any true obsessed fan he didn't care.

Chip, who had never missed any single opportunity to tease his friend before, especially in the presence of the pin-up mouse inventor, didn't pay any attention to Dale's self-torments at all. He tacitly passed by Gadget and took the front passenger seat. Dale, not without his faithful stick's assistance, waddled into the back. Monty turned the fan on and the Rangermobile set out.

"Good luck, guys!" Gadget bid them farewell. Monty waved his hand in response, while the chipmunks didn't react at all, having either not heard her voice through the fan's din or pretended not to hear. The mouse followed them with her eyes until they vanished, then turned around and resolutely headed to the workshop.

"Didn't even say goodbye!" she said angrily to herself, going upstairs. "Like uppity children, really! I'm at the most crucial creative stage of my research and they come up with this silly hockey game! What did they find interesting in it? It's just a bunch of rudeness, scuffling and nothing more! Primitive! How can anyone like a sport where the most complicated equipment used are sirens and light bulbs behind the nets?! Oh golly, I completely forgot! The first stage must've been completed already!"

She quickened her pace and ran into the workshop right when the timer counted down its last seconds and rang loudly. Gadget dashed to the electrolyte bath and took out the metal plates covered with a white film.

"Ooh, just in time!" Gadget sighed with relief as she pulled her goggles down over her eyes and became thoroughly engrossed in her work. The time-table was strict. Today she planned to finish off the superglue she was making, assemble and test some pneumatic pistols for nailing up grapples in the walls of almost any thickness, dismantle the Ranger Wing's engines for future modernization and put together a lightweight but very durable frame of a future supersonic aircraft.

But the main task for today was to perfect the technology of obtaining a much more pure liquid potassium, which then could be used to produce ultra strong glass to protect them—in the Ranger Wing, Gyrotank, Rangermobile, anything at all! The new glass could even serve the windows at headquarters, especially now after one of them, well, "broke".

That brought Gadget's mind back to the events of the day, and now she recalled the emotions and looks that the boys had. She tried to push it away, to file it for later study, but the events replayed in her mind's eye again.

"Never mind!" the inventor said to herself. "The Rangers will win, the guys will come back content and by that time I will already have something great to show them! And tomorrow's concert…golly, it'll be shown on TV so many times it'll become boring!"

**4**

When Gadget decided to take a short rest and turned away from her blueprints and calculations, she found much to her astonishment that it was completely dark already. She skidded down the spiral tire slide into the hall, switched the lights on and looked at the clock. Five minutes to ten.

"Wow!" she thought, "I've worked more than six hours without a break!.. But where are the guys? The match must have finished some time ago…"

The mouse inventor went down to the garage, but the Rangermobile wasn't there. What could have held them up for so long? She felt a cold lump forming in her stomach. Could something have really gone wrong? _It's the thirteenth today, and Monty said…_

"Golly, why am I winding myself up?! The Rangers won and guys just went somewhere to have a snack and celebrate the victory!" she loudly reprimanded herself. For a few moments she felt better but the feeling of cold wouldn't leave. She returned to the hall, mumbling "couldn't they just stay home for me not to worry" and turned on the TV.

And the world broke apart.

The special bulletin caption reading "Breaking News" all by itself caused her to freeze in more ways than one. The mournful look of a news anchor tired after many hours of on-air marathon — she shuddered. And his words — she desperately wanted to wake up.

"**This Saturday, the thirteenth of June, is one of the blackest days in the history of our city and all our country," the newsreader reported, all the emotion drained from his voice. "As it was reported earlier today, at 5:23 PM Pacific Time, a Boeing 747 air liner, North Pacific Avia Flight 10031 crashed down on the Ice-Dome Sports Arena, where the Stanley Cup Final featuring the Michigan Red Stars and San-Angeles Rangers was taking place. The flight originated in Lima, Peru with an intermediate landing at our city's National Airport. At 5:05 PM the plane took off en route to Sea-City.**

"**As a result of the crash, three out of twelve sectors of the complex were completely destroyed, other sectors being severely damaged. According to unconfirmed sources, there were no survivors among the 328 passengers and crew of Flight 10031. The victim count on the ground is being verified, but it's already clear that the total casualties are estimated in the thousands.**

"**Our foreign colleagues report that the President interrupted his official visit to Europe and is heading back to this country, with his arrival at the crash site expected sometime tomorrow afternoon. The administration continues to receive condolences from state leaders and public organizations from all over the world.**

"**Norwegian band A-Kha, whose grand concert was scheduled for tomorrow, has already declared the show's cancellation and postponed the event indefinitely. At the same time the lead singer of the band announced at a press-conference that starting next week they would begin a worldwide charity tour, all funds from which would be used to help the families of the deceased and injured in this horrible catastrophe…"**

The newsreader spoke of many different things: Of the "go team", created by National Transportation Safety Board to investigate the causes of this air crash. Of the telephone numbers by which one could get information regarding relatives attending this ill-fated game. Of the blood donation centers set up in all city hospitals and administrative buildings. Of much more.

But Gadget didn't hear it. She sat on the sofa rolled into a tight ball, staring vacantly with her wide-open eyes somewhere beyond the newsreader, beyond the TV, beyond the headquarters' walls. Somewhere out there, a place where only this afternoon her friends had departed to.

Gadget realized that if she sat there for a second more she would go crazy once and for all. Like a spring pressed to its limit, she straightened up and ran to the Wing stationed in the hangar. It was dark on the lower floor but it only registered in her fevered mind as some shroud covering her eyes and slowly she became aware she was crying.

But she didn't stop. She could stop no longer.

Gadget climbed into the cockpit and powered the engines up. Only a dull rattle responded instead of the usual low hum. Why, why had she decided to dismantle the engines today?! Gadget beat at the motionless yoke and all of a sudden remembered the Ranger Plane, stored for the time being on the upper landing pad.

The inventor darted upstairs. "Golly, if only she worked… if only she worked…" Gadget kept muttering the mantra under her breath like some spell, running up to the tarpaulin-covered aircraft. Having torn the sheet away, the mouse took the pilot's seat and started pulling on the unruly levers.

"Come on, work!" she cried with all the lung power she had, waking up a flock of sparrows which slept in the canopy over her and sending them scattering asunder in fear at the sound of her voice. Right now she didn't care who and in what quantity she disturbed at all.

"Come on, dear, start, please," she kept saying tearfully while repeatedly rotating the starter crank. "Please, forgive me for leaving you behind. Fly once more, please…"

Gadget pushed the crank once more, putting all her energy into this movement. Something cracked under the dashboard—the engine sneezed, ungreased mechanical joints started moving rhythmically, the plane swayed and vacillatingly soared upwards.

The Ranger Plane had never been noted for high speed and the long downtime didn't improve the situation by any means. From Gadget's standpoint she didn't move forward at all, but the plane, although slowly, was indeed flying. Having flown out of the tree's dense canopy, she looked around and immediately knew where to go. The crimson glow and thick puffs of black smoke over the city were impossible to miss.

No sooner had the mouse left the limits of the city park than she was deafened by sirens' wailing, previously stifled by the trees. The streets she was flying over were packed with ambulances racing between the Ice-Dome and the hospitals. 101st Avenue, which led from the city's center to the sports arena, was closed for all traffic but emergency vessels.

Police cars and barriers were posted at all intersections. Some ambulances rushed past accompanied by a pair of police motorcycles — definitely carrying someone significant, for the cream of society just couldn't afford to miss a match like this. Ordinary drivers had to go around. Almost each and every citizen had relatives or friends among the Ice-Dome attendees, so everyone abandoned everything and hurried either to the site or the hospitals. Narrow secondary streets not meant for such traffic quickly grew jammed and complaining horns of thousands of cars rent the air.

After a seemingly eternal flight, Gadget saw the Ice-Dome—or rather what was left of it. The palace towered above the wide square surrounded by parks, and all the space between its walls and trees was filled with a confusion of people and machinery. But right now Gadget didn't feel like feasting her eyes upon these mighty vessels, true wonders of engineering thought…

Her attention was entirely absorbed by the ruinous sports arena, its snow-white walls almost completely black with soot and burn marks now, the once majestic dome partially collapsed. Smoke belched and every now and then tongues of flame shot out of numerous windows.

Despite a host of water cannons and foam launchers working at full capacity, the firemen still hadn't managed to localize the fire, let alone beat it. The fire fed on the aviation fuel poured out from aircraft's full tanks, reigniting again and again, and the firefighters had to extinguish the same areas many times.

But the most terrifying sight was the tremendous breach in the south part of the arena with the crashed Boeing's keel protruding from it. To the left and right from it broad and long openings punched by airliner's wings gaped like two deep wounds. In spite of the soot, the shape of a big three stories high numeral eight could be seen to the left of the yawning chasm.

Sector eight.

Gadget knew that sector numbers increased clockwise, so she banked right toward the opposite side of the breach where sector six must have been situated. The inventor looked for the number, and that's why she didn't notice the outlines of the numeral four lost amidst the burn marks right away. The large three farther to the right was much easier to spot, for this part of the complex suffered less damage and she was struck by a dreadful revelation.

Barely holding the yoke's bottle cap with trembling hands, she flew around the entire facility, finding all sectors except 5, 6 and 7. There could be no more doubts. The sector her friends were sitting in was in the very middle of devastated part of the building. The plane crashed right into it.

"No, no, it can't be…" Gadget mumbled. Spellbound, she peered into the flaming interior of the Ice-Dome ripped open by the fallen aircraft, trying to notice any little movement amidst the smoke and fire, but it was so hot even firemen in protective suits couldn't get near.

"Maybe they left before the crash… Or came too late, after it."

The mouse frantically searched through all the possibilities, persistently pushing away the thoughts about the worst. _Or maybe something diverted them. Sure! They witnessed a crime and they're chasing criminals somewhere now while I'm flying here in circles. Maybe, they've returned to HQ already and wondered where I went! They could be about to go search for me, worried for me. Yes! I must go back to headquarters and everything will be alright!_

Gadget made a steep turn, facing the plane away from this darned place. She was already imagining herself approaching the home tree and seeing her friends gathered at the porch, peering at the night sky. Then they see her and shout gaily and wave their paws in salute. She lands, the Plane's landing gear touches the landing ground. The vessel is still moving, but Chip and Dale are already there to help her out of the cockpit. "Where have you been? We looked for you everywhere!" they ask. And she embraces them and says "Golly, if you only knew how much I was frightened when I heard the news…"

Eerie metallic glitter in the bushes on the very verge of the park adjacent to the Ice Dome caught her attention. From the altitude she was flying at Gadget couldn't tell what it was exactly, but it was as if an inner voice told her "Land!". The mouse directed the Ranger Plane downward and landed in the middle of the wide clear area between the bushes. There, in the dusk, very familiar outlines could be seen.

Painfully familiar outlines of the Rangermobile.

Barely moving her rock-ribbed legs the inventor approached the machine. The flash of hope that it was not the Rangermobile but somebody else's very similar carrier subsided the very moment she came right up to it. It was her design and her creation, beyond any doubt—the manually adjusted fan with two-vane propeller. The powerful accumulator. The ruby wheels with reinforced suspension. The modified dashboard with electric current feeding regulators. And, as if in case all the features listed above would still seem insufficient, there was Dale's blue-red hockey stick laying on the back seat.

_He must have left it here because they wouldn't let him in with it…_

Gadget took one more step but felt the ground going from beneath her legs and laid hold of the machine's polished deck edge. She closed her eyes, unable to look at this silent monument. She started shaking and tears gushed from beneath her closed eaves.

"NOOOOO!" she shouted into the night sky. "NOOOOO! IT CAN'T BE! CHIP! DALE! MONTY! ZIPPER!"

She cried in the dark and shouted the more, but no one could hear her, no one answered her call.

She was alone.

Her friends weren't there.

Stumbling against the mowed grass, Gadget ran back to the Plane. She knew what to do. Knew where she belonged.

"Come on, bottle, start up!" mouse yelled in frenzy at the deaf aircraft. This time the engine started at the third attempt and the Ranger Plane flew back to the Ice-Dome, its wings creaking with strain.

"Hold on, guys!" Gadget shouted directing the craft right into the center of the catastrophe. The poisoned air gave her a coughing fit while the acrid smoke irritated her eyes, but she wasn't going to put her goggles on. It didn't matter for her anymore. Everything will end soon, and they will be together again.

The helium balloon split with loud plop. The Plane twitched and started going down. Gadget was already discerning individual fire vortexes furiously devouring the remains of the airliner and the demolished stands. The heat became intolerable, the air was practically impossible to breathe in. She felt herself losing consciousness.

_Good._

_I'm on the way._

_The faster it happens, the better…_

An unknown force struck the bottom of the plane flipping her upwards and to the right. At first Gadget thought something had exploded but then found herself flying amidst the water splashes. She hit the water cannon's squirt—or rather, the squirt hit her.

The blow was so powerful the little plane flew up a couple of dozen feet high stitching the black smoke cloud all the way through. Gadget tried to bring the plane back on the previous course but it didn't obey. The direct hit by the cannon broke the clutch between the engine and the wing holders which got stuck at different angles to the hull.

Having lost both traction and its helium balloon, the Ranger Plane began spinning slowly but steadily. But the craft turned out to have been thrown so high up into the air by the water's blow that she overshot the Ice-Dome, flew over the square around it crowded with machines and men and reached the trees on the edge of the park. Having punched through a tall ash-tree's canopy, the Plane broke several branches. Covered with leaves, the Plane's remains plopped down on a big heap of freshly-mown grass.

Gadget, thunderstruck by falling, removed the leaves stuck to her face and, having breathed in the fresh air, coughed heavily. Her eyes were still burning but not so badly now. She moved her hands and legs and found nothing was broken. She got off very lightly, with only a couple of bruises and abrasions made by the branches that lashed against her face. Her jumpsuit was all covered with lampblack but on the whole she was unharmed.

It seemed plainly impossible after such a flight and crash. Her safety belt saved her. Gadget didn't remember having put it on. _It must've been reflex_, she mused. _Saved by a pile of grass, a seat belt and a water cannon—and I hate every one of them._

Half heartedly she tried to wind the engine up again but this time it showed no sign of life at all. She scrambled out of cockpit and examined her vessel. It didn't take a rocket scientist to comprehend that without a full overhaul the Ranger Plane would never fly again. Her hull was cracked open and the bow together with the engine got almost fully detached from the rest of the craft. The wing-driving mechanism was completely destroyed, the wing holders torn by the roots from the hull. Next to nothing remained of the right wing, the helium balloon had vanished and now its lost pieces burned somewhere among the Boeing's wreckage.

"Why? Why am I so unlucky?!" Gadget exclaimed and kicked the broken plane. "I can't even die and burn in a crash when I want to! Not one little scratch! What the heck is all this for?!"

Gadget sat down on the grass heap clasping her head. Maybe it was a curse. After all of this one could easily become as superstitious as Monty… Monty. She remembered her old comrade who had befriended her father so long ago and started crying again.

"Excuse me, miss, do you need help?"

The loud voice came so unexpectedly that Gadget froze for a second. She hadn't heard any noises and thought she was hearing things. But when she lifted her eyes she saw the wide muzzle of a straw-colored Labrador Retriever right in front of her. He was a rescue dog wearing a red and white uniform jacket along with a gas mask dangling off his neck that was connected to a silver oxygen cylinder on his back.

Gadget looked back at the rescue dog from the grass heap, even with his eye level. "No, thanks," she wept, "I'm alright…"

"Well," the dog smiled sadly, "good to see that at least one of today's air crashes went without casualties. Small bright spot, at last. My name's Luke. I saw you falling down. Are you sure you weren't hurt? There's blood on your forehead…"

"Really?" Gadget passed her hand over forehead and winced with pain. "Never mind, it's just a scratch. I'm Gadget, and what's your name...? Oh, sorry, you seem to have said it already…"

"Luke. You know, I saw your flight from the very sports complex, and I hope you don't mind if I ask. Are you looking for someone?"

Gadget felt a faint gleam of hope appearing again. "Yes! I'm looking! I'm looking for Chip, Dale—oh, sorry, their names will hardly tell you anything. They're two chipmunks, an Australian muscle mouse and a small fly. Have you seen them?"

Luke scratched behind his ear. "No, unfortunately, I don't remember seeing anyone like that anyway. You should ask Vader, our unit commander. I arrived here later on, while he was among the first. He would know."

"Golly, that's great!" Gadget exclaimed gaily. "Where can I find him?"

"Climb onto me." Luke lowered his head on the grass near the mouse. "It's such a pandemonium here that even humans sometimes barely escape being run over. And if you get in the way nobody will even notice!"

Gadget gripped Luke by the collar and climbed on his neck. The dog straightened up and ran in the direction of the Ice-Dome by long leaps, looking to his sides every now and then. He stopped a couple of times to give way to ambulances passing by with a deafening wail, and in such moments Gadget had to grip his collar with all her strength in order not to fly over the dog's head and fall right under the wheels. If she tried to cross the square by herself at such a speed she would certainly be crushed by a wheel or someone's leg.

Luke moved forward confidently and it was obvious that it wasn't his first run in an environment like this. Finally they got to a large red-and-white van with a red Labrador Retriever wearing the same uniform as Luke, sitting near its back doors. The red-haired rescue dog was looking raptly at the group of men-rescuers standing not far from the van, so Luke's and Gadget's appearance went unnoticed.

"What's the news, Chewy?" Luke asked as he approached his fellow canine. Chewy turned his head and Gadget saw tears in his big brown eyes.

"Luke," Chewy said quietly and dropped his head, "Oby died. In sector three…"

"How?!" Luke asked and flinched so strongly that Gadget nearly fell down.

"The ceiling collapsed. Frank rushed to dig him out but then everything around started coming down and he himself was barely dragged out. All of us almost got killed there."

The dog pointed his head back at the group of people and only now Gadget noticed the aged man in an undone red-and-white jacket sitting on the emergency vehicle's footboard unaware of the others. He continuously stared at the broken dog lead he was holding and other rescuers time and again glanced at him and, as if apologizing for the intrusion, averted their eyes.

"My condolences…" Gadget uttered quietly.

"It's nothing. We all know it can happen. Thanks." Luke answered, swallowing a lump that formed in his throat. "He was my mentor. Taught me everything…"

"Who are you talking to?" Chewy asked.

"Oh, sure," Luke lowered his head and the mouse inventor clambered down to the ground. "Chewy, meet Gadget. Gadget, here is Chewy, my old friend and fellow trainee."

The red Labrador nodded civilly.

"Gadget's looking for her friends—" Luke began but the Rescue Ranger interrupted him.

"Have you seen two chipmunks, an Australian muscle mouse and a small fly? Maybe they're here somewhere, helping the injured?" She waved her hand towards the arena ruins.

Chewy shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I would have certainly remembered such a crew. You need to speak to Commander Vader. Oh, there he and Bronson are!"

Gadget looked where Chewy pointed and saw a big black Labrador in a gas mask slowly walking alongside his owner, the chief of the rescue unit. Bronson patted his four-legged partner on the back and went towards Frank, while Vader headed to Luke and Chewy. Having stepped up to them he wearily sat down and pulled his gas mask away, revealing deep wrinkles and two wide swaths of gray hair stretching from the tip of his nose to the corners of his eyes.

"Don't limp, guys," old dog began right off the bat. His voice was hoarse, shrill and gruff. "Oby won't return, but that's better than of age or arthritis. Who the heck is this?" he asked Luke as he pointed at Gadget, as if having noticed her just now.

"Her name is Gadget, Commander," Luke answered, "she's looking for her friends."

"Do they all consider us some lost-property office?" Vader spoke through set teeth. He addressed nobody in particular, but his remark hit Gadget like a thunderbolt. She was about to say something irate and suitable for the moment, but then Vader looked right at her and the words got stuck in her throat.

"Okay lady, come on, tell us everything—who, how many, and where. But please be quick. We've got a fire to deal with, you know."

"I… I'm looking for two chipmunks," Gadget managed, wondering how many times this recital would continue. "An Australian muscle mouse and a fly. Their names are Chip, Dale, Monterey Jack and Zipper. Their seats were in the sixth sector."

"In the sixth sector?" The black Labrador gave a short unpleasant laugh. "That's what you should have begun with, my dear. Just think about it. Don't you see what's going on here? Look around, open your eyes! There is NO sixth sector. It doesn't exist. It vanished. Sank into oblivion."

"But I thought, maybe somehow…" Gadget muttered slowly.

"Somehow what? An aircraft crashed there, mind you. It's such a big thing, you know? With wings. It flies. Sometimes poorly, just like today for example. There is no fifth, sixth or seventh sector anymore. Black hole. Inferno. We haven't got there yet and likely won't before morning. I'm sorry—as they say, nothing personal, but if I were you I would start searching for new friends."

Gadget couldn't believe the casual cruelty of it. "What did you—how can you!" She covered her face with her paws and burst into sobs, feeling herself turned inside out by Vader's words.

"Right, here come more hysterics," Vader grumbled. "How many have we seen today already? I lost count long ago. All right, then. You can check the hospital out but I don't think it'll help."

"What…hospital?" Gadget asked, still unable to control herself.

"What do you mean 'what hospital'?" Vader rolled his eyes. "Are you just out of hibernation? The Small Central Hospital for rodents on Portero Avenue. It opened nearly a month ago. There's chaos in there, for sure, but it's worse here so the change will be for better. But if your friends were in sector six when it happened, then here are my heartfelt condolences. I can only say that they didn't suffer. Their light was just switched off. Not so bad, actually."

Vader turned his attention back to his duties. "Luke, Chewy! Be at the sector two entrance in five minutes! We've sat here too long, time to work! Don't be late!"'

The gruff canine dashed up and headed to his human partner sitting next to a mourning Frank. Chewy sniffed and glanced at the crying mouse and, having murmured "duty calls, sorry" went after the commander.

"I am sorry…" Luke added, still next to Gadget.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!! GET AWAY FROM ME!! DARN ALL OF YOU!!" the inventor wailed and rushed away, her paws covering her eyes.

_Run._

_Run anywhere, if only as far from here as possible._

_How could he?!_

_And he calls himself a rescuer?!_

_He is…he is…_

"GADGET! LOOK OUT!"

Gadget stopped instinctively at Luke's shouted warning and suddenly something grabbed her by the jumpsuit collar and lifted her up. She screamed and started fighting back, but her tooth and nail effort hit empty air alone. Then a thundering roar came from the left and a gigantic four-axle hoisting crane drove past some few inches from her.

The torpid inventor followed the clearance lights and all of a sudden felt herself back on the ground again.

"Oh-ho, that was close!" Luke said having unclenched his teeth and let Gadget's overalls go. "It was careless on your part, upset or not. Please, forgive Vader. Don't think of him badly, he isn't always such a—well. Today is just a truly unlucky day."

"But that's no reason to have said that! 'Look for new friends'! Doesn't he understand…?"

"Please, Gadget, let me finish. I know what you thought and how you took it. Forgive the old dog. It's professional cynicism. Sometimes it's impossible to go without it, if only to avoid the mental hospital. Sometimes you see a lot of things and besides, he's been up the whole week. One emergency call after another—fires, an oil truck accident, explosions, flames. And now this crash. They've roused everybody still capable of moving.

"And now Oby's death. Vader and Oby were friends from childhood; their families had been friends long before their birth. They trained together, worked together. I assure you that when all this is finished he will lock up somewhere and his howling will shatter all the windows around. And besides, he'll insist on telling Oby's family the news…"

The labrador's words moved Gadget to the very depth of her soul. Perhaps Luke's right. She too acted under duress, after all, but she still couldn't forgive Vader. His words were just too painful and scary. A rescuer must never say things like that. Chip would never allow himself to say them.

_Golly, if only he and the guys were okay!_

"Thank you," she nodded, "you are very kind, Luke. And thanks for saving my life. I really didn't see or hear anything at all."

"Never mind. It's our job, after all."

"And what's about that hospital Vader was talking about? You know, I very rarely left my house this month…"

"Small Central Hospital? That's a medical center opened by Harold Bucksup the third inside of Central City Hospital. 1001 Portero Avenue is the address. They're huge white buildings, you won't miss it. If you get lost, ask. Many are heading there now. I hope you'll be fortunate enough to find your friends there…let me take you to the park gates, or, God forbid, you'll have to dodge some heavy truck once again."

"Thank you, Luke. I would've been surely gone without you." Gadget said, occupying her already usual place on the dog's back. "Oh, could you please take me to the park path in front of the sixth sector? I have the Rang—a car there."

"Aircraft, car…you are very resourceful girl, I must say!" Luke tried to cheer her up at least a bit, but Gadget didn't even smile. She was too depressed with emotions that overwhelmed her the moment she thought of the Rangermobile—emotions so intense that the mouse inventor wasn't even able to pronounce this very familiar word.

**5**

Once he let Gadget off by the Rangermobile, Luke bid farewell and ran back to sector 2 at the highest speed possible. Gadget watched him until the dog's red and white jacket disappeared in the crowd, and only then approached the vehicle for the second time. This time it didn't arouse such feelings as before, but she still needed some time to compel herself to climb onboard and turn the fan on. Doing this meant full acknowledgement that her friends weren't here, that they were either in Small Central Hospital or…

_No, there is no 'or'! I'll find them there! Even if I have to stay in the hospital till morning. I'll find them, no matter the condition they're in and I'll visit them every day—no, I'll make this hospital my home! Be it in a closet, a corridor or right on the floor, whatever, but I'll stay there until they recover enough to return home. And everything will be just like before! No, much better! 'Cause I'll never let myself become carried away with something to the extent that my friends feel they're forgotten! I'll never let it happen again!_

One had to be very careful driving through crowded streets and Gadget even had to turn off the road into some dark back streets a couple of times. But she persistently moved towards her goal, each and every second reminding herself that Chip, Dale, Monty and Zipper were waiting for her. She tore ahead at full speed, squeezing everything from the Rangermobile it was capable of.

The crowd already gathered at the gates of Central City Hospital could be seen from afar. The territory in front of the main building was fully occupied with people who hadn't had any idea of each other's existence by this day. They had different trades, education, financial position, etc. But the tragedy of Flight NA10031 equalized and drew them all together. Absolutely strange people tried to console those who received confirmation of decease of someone's significant, and rejoiced together with relatives of survivors. The voice from hospital loud speakers kept on calling surnames out, and one or more people having clenched their fists for good luck or crossed, headed for the doors where the news, good or bad, was already waiting for them. Someone went out joyous and calmed down, someone — crying, but relieved nevertheless, for agonizing suspense is more terrible than the worst news possible.

Gadget turned right at the hospital fence and drove alongside it to the front gates of Small Central Hospital — a low aperture in the stone wall hidden behind the bushes and a brick pile, opposite the hospital's auxiliary building. There in the semi-basement, the hospital for all kinds of rodents was situated, funded by the richest mouse in the city, Harold Bucksup III.

In due time Rescue Rangers helped him to recover his wealth, "fizzed" by Bubbles, The Coo-Coo Cola Cult insidious self-proclaimed leader. After Bubbles's gerrymander was uncovered, The Cult ceased to exist as a religious community and turned into a society of friends and associates. Time told that the Cult affair did Harold Bucksup good. His money and cheese were used to launch many charity projects, the acme of which being the opening of full-fledged hospital. Here the most prominent rodent doctors from all over the country were gathered under one roof and every rodent in need could get competent medical assistance.

Gadget left the Rangermobile near the brick pile and entered the gates and spacious courtyard with footpaths here and there. Right now these paths and all the open ground were thick with animals—mice, rats, squirrels, hamsters, along with other rodents of various size and colors. The system was similar to that of the humans — surnames calling, good or bad news, joy or sorrow…

Gadget went straight to the main entrance. At first it seemed impossible to get in the doors. She expected to hear angry shouts like "Stand in the line!", but then noticed that all the rodents waiting for a call lapsed into silence at the sight of her and parted. Gadget couldn't understand the cause of it but wasn't going to stop and ask. What if she was simply mistaken for someone else who must be let through, and when the error reveals itself they'll temper mercy with justice and kick her out?

The mouse inventor tried to walk confidently like a mouse in a hurry on serious business. At the doors she had to elbow her way through dense ranks of waiting relatives, but no one tried to stop her. On the contrary, no sooner had they glanced at her than they nodded and stepped aside. Is it possible? Is it possible that her friends were indeed here, and everybody's waiting for her? Yes, of course! That's the explanation! She hastened even more and nearly ran into the admission room.

The still-new hospital clearly wasn't ready for servicing so many patients at once. The lack of beds forced all available floor space to be turned into one big ward, the hall no exception. Someone was fully bandaged, someone only partially. Someone suffered several fractures while someone got off lightly with a couple of scars only. Someone was groaning, someone was screaming, someone suffered his pain in silence. Doctors rushed about from one end of the room to another. A strong scent of disinfectant was in the air. Gadget stopped, having no idea where to go and who to ask now.

"Miss? Excuse me, miss?"

Gadget didn't grasp at first that she was the target of this address. She turned her head and saw a female chipmunk right in front of her, wearing a crumpled hospital gown. The nurse's combed-back dark hazel hair was parted in the middle and topped with white cap, slid down on one side. You could easily tell from her face she was dead tired, but the look in her gray eyes was firm with purpose.

"Oh, sorry, were you talking to me?" Gadget asked in surprise.

"Of course you, miss! Come with me!"

The nurse gently but tenaciously took Gadget by her hand and pulled her along. Gadget had no choice but to follow. They went out of the crowded hall into the equally crowded corridor. At first Gadget actively turned her head left and right, but the sights were so shocking and distressing that she stopped and did her utmost not to take her eyes off the guide's white gown. At last the nurse stopped in front of one of the many white doors in the hospital. She knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. Gadget found herself in a small room furnished with a writing-table, two chairs, a medical locker, couch and washstand. The chipmunk left Gadget standing in the middle of the room and disappeared behind the semi-transparent curtain, which separated the consulting room from what seemed to be a big ward. Soon the nurse returned accompanied by aged doctor-mouse.

"I apologize, Doctor Stone, but the others have a full load now. And besides, this case is much simpler," the nurse explained while pointing at Gadget

"It's alright, Millie, don't worry. You may go." The doctor closed the door behind her, turned to Gadget and pointed at the couch.

"Have a seat, please," Doctor Stone said.

"Thanks doctor, but apparently there was some misunderstanding. I don't need medical assistance."

The physician raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Is that so? Excuse my lack of tact, but when did you look in a mirror last time?"

Doctor Stone waved at the big mirror hanging on the closed door's interior. Gadget looked in it and was stupefied. Yes, now it was clear why everybody stepped aside before her. Her hair was disheveled and blackened, her eyes red from tears and pungent smoke. Her normally pale face was covered with abrasions and soot. Her dirty jumpsuit was patterned with oil stains, the collar torn from one side.

"Golly," the mouse mumbled. "How did all that happen?"

Doctor Stone fetched some phials out of the locker, then turned to her. "Aren't you from the Ice-Dome?"

"No—that is, yes, I was there, but I didn't go to the game. My friends went to the game and I looked for them. I was told they could be here. Do you know if they are?

"Please, let me examine you and then we'll talk, agreed?" Stone wetted a sponge under the tap and started carefully rubbing Gadget's face clean. She winced when the sponge touched scratches but sat silently. Doctor Stone proceeded to the abrasions treatment. It was more painful and Gadget twitched involuntarily a couple of times. When the doctor finished, he put plasters on Gadget's forehead and cheeks.

He hemmed with satisfaction, then put the medicines back in the locker. "Well, how are you feeling now?"

Gadget warily touched her face. There was no pain. "Yes, Doctor Stone, thank you, it's much better now. But there was no need to worry, really. My scratches are nothing compared to—"

"You are right," Stone interrupted her. He was silent for a moment, than went on. "You see, I'm senior physician here, so they send the most serious cases to me. And you should excuse me, but it's really a pleasure to see a patient today who I can truly help. All right then, what's with your friends you wanted to talk about?"

"I'm looking for two chipmunks, an Australian muscle mouse and a fly," Gadget said, feeling that this phrase was gradually turning into an incantation of sorts. "Their seats were in sector six. I know it's the very center of the crash but…"

"Chipmunks, an Australian mouse and a fly, you say…" the doctor repeated pensively while tousling his sparse beard. "Interesting."

"What?! What's interesting?!" Gadget sprang up from the couch. "You know something about them, right?"

"Please, don't worry," Stone pronounced assuredly and gently made her sit down. "They weren't among my patients. Maybe you should check with the other doctors, but you see, someone already asked about them."

"Wait, how could that be…?" Gadget was bewildered. "Who asked?"

"One of our patients. He was delivered among the very first. Poor fellow was unconscious for a very long time, but the moment he came to his senses he asked whether there had been a gold-haired mouse, two chipmunks, a muscle mouse a fly delivered here. You are the gold-haired mouse, I presume. Besides you, what are your friends' names?"

"The chipmunks are Chip and Dale—" Gadget began but the doctor stopped her.

"Exactly! He mentioned these names too. You must definitely know each other."

"But who is he? What's his name? Where can I find him?"

"He's a rat. Tall, blond-haired. Oh, yes, he was pretty strikingly electrified. When the orderly took him off the stretcher—"

"SPARKY!" Rescue Ranger clasped her hands. "Yes, yes, I know him! I must talk to him immediately! Where is he?"

"This Sparky of yours got off very lightly, which is no wonder given that, according to his words, he was in the first sector on the opposite side from the crash site. You should look for him in the assembly hall, with the minor injuries patients. It's down the corridor to the right, through the big folding doors. Excuse for not accompanying you. I've got work." Stone waved his paw at the curtain. "Good luck looking for your friends. If they're here, we'll do everything we can, I promise."

"Thanks, Doctor!" Gadget shook hands with the old mouse and, inspired with hope, ran into the corridor. Stone dolefully looked at the door as it closed behind her. He couldn't make himself tell this young mouse what that patient, Sparky, had told him. It was too much for him to bear. _Besides, it would be better if she knew it firsthand, from a friend._ He sighed deeply, fetched another bandage pack and instruments kit from the locker and went to his patients.

**6**

Following the old doctor's instructions, Gadget quickly found the assembly hall. Normally it was a vast auditorium with a rostrum and rows of stalls for an audience. Now the rostrum was dismantled and the stalls moved to the walls in order to expand the usable space. Seats were placed at the disposal of victims with minor leg injuries. The rest of the room was occupied by those able to move on their own. In fact this hall became a waiting room where those who didn't need serious medical care waited for relatives or friends. Someone constantly arrived or went away, and time and again small jams formed in the wide opened doors.

Gadget fell into one of those. She snuggled herself against the wall not to interfere with the patient traffic and went along the perimeter looking for Sparky. After some time it occurred to her that Sparky might have been transferred somewhere but then Gadget saw a tall rat in a hospital robe sitting sideways to her. His hair, tousled with static electricity, was almost completely hidden by bandages. She didn't recognize him at first, but when he turned his head she immediately darted to him.

"Sparky! Sparky!" she began, waving her hands. The lab rat whipped around at the sound and, judging from his surprised expression, didn't recognize the soot-covered Gadget. But then a broad smile spread across his face and he met her with outstretched arms—as outstretched as it was possible in his current condition, for his right hand was in a cast while his left was bandaged from the finger-tips to the wrist.

"Gadget! Good gracious, I'm so glad to see you!" the scientist said, folding the mouse in his arms. Gadget hugged him too and felt him flinch.

She relaxed her embrace and apologized. "I hurt you? Excuse me, I got too enthusiastic."

"It's nothing," Sparky answered, wincing slightly but still smiling. "You look great! Haven't changed at all. Not counting the plaster, obviously."

"Oh, please!" Gadget waved the compliment aside and asked the most important question. "Have you seen the other Rescue Rangers? Doctor Stone said you asked about them. That you were present on the match and might know where they are."

Instead of answering, Sparky touched his injured neighbor by his shoulder and he, having nodded shortly, slowly stood up. "Have a seat."

Gadget felt herself chilled from within. Such an introduction promised no good at all. Her friends must be in a very bad condition. Maybe one of them even…she tried hard to collect herself and sank into the armchair. Sparky spoke while looking at her, but nevertheless slightly aside.

"Actually, I ended up in the Ice-Dome accidentally," he began in a roundabout way. "I didn't intend to go there, but Buzz — you remember Buzz, don't you? — by force of habit remembered the pathway through the sewers, so I thought, well, if such opportunity presented itself, why not take it and go?

"Buzz wasn't interested in hockey and stayed in MIT. It was a pleasure, you know, to see the native lands, visit the fields of glory, as they say. Oh, excuse me; I seem to have digressed. So, I made my way into the Ice-Dome and took a seat in sector one. The view wasn't the best—I was sitting at the service gallery level, almost under the dome, no stands there but free of charge. If you get caught, you'll be in trouble, but still—yes, yes, I'm sorry—I knew I'd have to sit high and brought some optics with me from the Institute. So I'm sitting there watching the match, sometimes looking at the stands across the field. And suddenly I see familiar faces in the sixth sector! The Rescue Rangers with their full complement! That is, I thought you were there too. I started looking for you, but you were nowhere to be seen."

"I stayed at home," Gadget explained, "I had to finish a couple of projects."

"I see," Sparky nodded. "So, I sit there looking for you, then Dale… I remember correctly, don't I? Chip's in the hat and Dale is other, right?"

"Yes, you're right," mouse agreed, trying to meet his eyes. Sparky was evasive but Gadget saw something was gnawing him. "Go on, please."

"Yeah, sure. So, Dale was in a hockey uniform. The Rangers just scored and he jumped and tore Chip's hat right from his head and started swinging with it. Chip got angry and tried to take it back. Honestly, I even forgot about the game! I laughed, watching them fight, and then Monterey…Monterey Jack, am I right?"

"Yes, Monterey Jack," Gadget answered very quietly.

"Oh, good, then I haven't forgotten. My memory doesn't always serve me—sorry, I digressed again. So I'm watching them and then 'Bang!' Everything shook and rocked. I fell from where I was sitting, down on top of someone. Then I looked up and there's a wall of fire moving towards me! Everyone rushed to the exits. I was almost run over but managed to stand up and run along. I don't remember getting to the street; should have been taken out by the crowd. I came to myself here. My hands and legs are damaged, a couple of fractured ribs, a little concussion. But that's nothing. I'm an easy case."

Sparky fell silent. Gadget sat, her paws clutching at the elbow-rest and stared somewhere past him.

"You mean…" her voice trembled and she wasn't able to finish the phrase.

Sparky nodded assent. "Gadget, I'm very sorry. Believe me, you are the last mouse in the world I would like to tell bad news. But—but they were there. When I learned that the aircraft had crashed into the sixth sector, I couldn't settle down for a very long time. I thought you were there all together, you know."

Gadget began to shake. She buried her head in Sparky's shoulder and sobbed violently. It was the end. She had visited every single place her friends could be, tried every single possibility, and found at last the final confirmation of the horrible deduction she had the very moment she saw that ill-starred news bulletin.

"It can't be! Tell…tell me that…it's not true!" Gadget cried.

Sparky heard her voice, muted by sobbing and his clothes. He answered nothing, just embraced Gadget closer and dug his face into her hair to hide the tears from those around. And they just sat there, two mourning souls in a crowd of sorrow, stricken by common disaster.

**7**

Salvage operations at the crash site continued nonstop. Wailing ambulances flashed by deserted avenues and fire helicopters thundered in the skies. Thousands of people in their homes, in cars stuck in traffic jams, in the lobbies and courtyards of the hospitals, all of them waited for any tiny bit of news concerning their friends and relatives. They still had hope. Gadget didn't have it any more.

It was way past 2 AM when the Rangermobile slowly, like a hearse, drove under the arch of the city park trees. In the past four hours Gadget had experienced almost as many emotional rises and downfalls than during all her previous life. She found the road to home with her reflexes only. All her thoughts were filled with images from the recent but now seemingly enormously distant past. Gadget hasn't felt such spiritual bankruptcy since she lost her father. She was alone again. The lone little jumpsuit-wearing mouse with the mind-bashingly high IQ slowly drove through the dark and desolate park. Behind her the Ice-Dome blazed in the distance like a torch. Ahead of her an empty team headquarters awaited—or rather for the team that was.

When Gadget saw the light streaming out of the headquarters' windows, she perked up for a moment. A flash of belief that Sparky had erred and just mistaken her friends for somebody else darted in the back of her mind. But when she ran into the hall she understood she had simply forgotten to switch the lights off. Gadget turned off the TV, constantly displaying footage of the ruined sports arena and just sat there on the sofa for some time, her legs crossed and forehead set against her knees. She had never considered their headquarters large. Quite the contrary, she always lacked space for her new inventions. But now the house seemed tremendous and imposing, like a medieval castle.

"How can it be, guys…" Gadget whispered. She raised her head and saw a blue piece of paper on the table under the saucer. Her ticket, left by Monty. Sector 6, seat 8. Her seat. Her rightful place.

--

"_Gadget, I want to tell you, to ask you to fly away. You must save yourself. I insist on it! Someone ought to stay. I entrust you with this task. THAT'S AN ORDER!"_

--

Chip. Bottlebottom. A little more than a month ago. ()

She wasn't able to make the choice then. She refused to make it. She collected her thoughts and found a way out. She beat fate that time. Now fate took its revenge and left her with no choices whatsoever. Fate made the choice for her.

Gadget got up slowly and went to the lower floor. It was dark and cold there — a broken window boarded up in a hurry still let the cool night air in. The mouse inventor forgot when she had eaten for the last time but didn't feel hungry. And even if she were hungry, she wouldn't be able to eat anything. She bypassed the kitchen and entered Chip's and Dale's room. The former Chip's and Dale's room.

Common things abounded here--common order on Chip's half, common disorder on Dale's half. Everything as usual. Except this time Chip and Dale were missing. And without them the room became a museum. A memorial.

Gadget stepped up to the wardrobe and passed her hand over the suits hanging inside. Chip's austere black tail-coat. Dale's clumsy stripped jacket. Sureluck Jones' brown trench coat with the button up front and Inverness cape Chip brought back from Baskerville-Hall. Super agent Double-O-Dale's white tuxedo. Every article of clothing had its own history. But the future is the same for all of them — to hang in the wardrobe, waiting for their owners, forever gone.

She closed the wardrobe and went back to the door, but stopped at the sight of Dale's collection of mini CDs. Gadget recalled that it had taken her almost a week to assemble the mini-CD player for him out of several old human CD drives. Chip didn't like this undertaking, arguing that they would be able to rest no longer because of the loud music, shouting and yelling. Dale insisted that only powerful speakers could reproduce "the full depth of modern showbiz."

Their quarrel almost ended in a fight when Gadget offered Dale to build him special headphones capable of reproducing the music's full expression. The chipmunk was enraptured with the idea and said that it had been a dream of his for a long time and now he wouldn't need, according to his words, "to share the real art with one as ignorant as Chip." Chip, albeit hurt by these words, nevertheless was also satisfied and the problem was settled.

Gadget gently moved her fingers across the CD's plastic spines. Dale did his utmost to record, research and gather all this music, a rich collection indeed. All the Iron Goose albums, along with the Aciders and Dead Heads. And one disk by A-Kha, "The Theme Song from 'Dirk Suave: The Daylight Savings. Single.'" This cover was strikingly different from the rest in its cover design. No monsters or eerie phantasmagoric pictures here, just Dirk Suave, encircled with a sniper scope frame, taken from the title sequence to all the films about the brave super agent. On the top there were three photographs of smiling young men, apparently band members.

--

"_And you know, tomorrow A-Kha will have a grand concert in our city! One performance only! I've already looked for the seats! I'm pretty sure you'll like it…"_

--

Dale. Headquarters. Today.

A teardrop rolled down Gadget's cheek and fell onto the album's cover. She wanted to wipe it but her hands were numb. The plastic case slipped out of her fingers and sank down on the floor. Gadget screamed, squatted to pick it up and suddenly saw two more discs by this band standing in the utmost and dustiest corner of the shelving. She carefully, so as not to dump out all adjacent disks, took them out.

The first of these two discs was entitled "Lesser Earth, Greater Sky", and its cover showed fuselage of the aircraft. Gadget shuddered and hurried to thrust it back. Aircraft was the last thing she wanted to see now. And she knew it would remain the last thing for a very long time.

One more disk remained, its cover a big black-and-white photograph. The same three men were here as on the single's cover, but this time older, wiser looking. No wonder, considering that this disc, according to the data on the rear, was published three years later. "West of the Sun, East of the Moon". _Who knows, maybe that's where the place my friends belong now._ Dale wanted her to go to the concert. To listen to their songs. He was sure she would like them. And although the concert was canceled because of the catastrophe, she would fulfill this wish, which turned out being his last.

Gadget returned to the hall and put the headphones on, switched off the light and sat down on the sofa. At first there was nothing, then distant bursts of thunder were accompanied by rain. How appropriate Gadget thought, listening to the introduction played against a stormy background. Very calm and tuneful music. So different from what Dale usually listened to. _Could Dale really like it? But why would he keep discs with such songs amid his heavy metal discs? Unless he was hiding them from somebody. From Chip, most likely._

_"I'll never let you see_

_The way my broken heart_

_Is hurting me_

_I've got my pride and _

_I know how to hide_

_All my sorrow and pain_

_I'll do my crying in the rain"_

…_or, maybe…_

_"If I wait for stormy skies _

_You won't know the rain _

_From the tears in my eyes _

_You'll never know that _

_I still love you so _

_Though the heartaches remain _

_I'll do my crying in the rain"_

…_from me?_

_"Raindrops falling from heaven _

_Could never take away my misery _

_But since we're not together _

_I'll pray for stormy weather _

_To hide these tears I hope_

_You'll never see"_

A kaleidoscope of memories started flashing in her mind:

_--_

_It was in the headquarters' garage. She'd just finished the Rangermobile. The blades of the fan don't hold, though._

"_I picked this just for you!"_

_It's Chip…_

"_Thanks, Chip, it's perfect! This should keep the prop on!"_

_It couldn't come off better with the prop. With Chip's flower, on the other hand…_

"_Great! Now we can go on a picnic!"_

_This time it's Dale._

"_Oh, Dale, you're so thoughtful! Come on, everyone! We're going on a picnic!"_

_It looked so natural! To go for a ride together to celebrate the completion of one of her most successful projects to date. To try the new vehicle out, test it with a full load._

"_Everyone? But I meant—"_

_She never learned what exactly Dale meant then._

_--_

_"Someday when my crying's done _

_I'm gonna wear a smile and _

_Walk in the sun _

_I may be a fool _

_But till then, darling,_

_You'll never see me complain _

_I'll do my crying in the rain"_

_--_

_The landing strip in front of the hangar. She was screwing the engine's cover on, finishing a repair to the Ranger Wing after the clash with Winifred the Witch and the crash that ensued. That was when she saw that the existing equipment wasn't enough to force the Wing out of a spin, and later installed additional pullout flaps. But that will be later on._

"_Hi, Gadget. Uh, do you know where Dale is?" Chip asked approaching her. She recalled she was surprised with his anxiously looking about. Usually Chip didn't worry about Dale very much._

"_Foxglove's teaching him to hang glide!" _

"_You mean, you and I are alone?" chipmunk asked, his voice transformed in a fraction of a second._

"_Looks that way."_

"_Gadget, there's something I've been wanting to tell you…" Chip began, taking her by the hand and drawing her up to him._

"_GANGWAY!"_

_Here came Dale. He glided down on Chip and carried him away into the sky. Then they fell down somewhere, into the fountain or the like. At that time she was astonished by this coincidence._

_Or was it coincidence?_

_Surely, Dale couldn't have heard what Chip was saying._

_But maybe he didn't like what he saw._

_--_

Now Gadget remembered and reconsidered the whole Foxglove thing. The bat, enamored with Dale, disappeared just as suddenly as she had showed up. One dank autumn morning the Rescue Rangers found her note lying on the table in the hall. In it Foxglove thanked them for everything they had done for her and told of her intention to return home, from where Winifred took her.

Dale, while he looked sad, just parted his hands and said, "Well, it was to be expected. She'll feel better there." Such a reserved reaction didn't correspond to Dale's nature at all, but at that time Gadget didn't pay attention to it. Nor to Monty's comment "So that's what you were talkin' about so long yesterday evening…"

That note was just a polite excuse. The true cause of Foxglove's leaving was known to Dale only. And now to her too…

_"Early morning _

_Eight o'clock precise _

_I see the lonely August sun arise _

_Say you know _

_You will _

_Move me like you do _

_Out on the fields... _

_I'm waiting the whole night through…"_

One more song. One more image.

_--_

_Military hospital. Restricted area. Lots of vehicles and many more soldiers. The news about a captured alien agitated everybody. Security was so tight it was impossible to walk or fly through. With the modemizer at hand, though, it was possible to phone through. This way had some undocumented side effects attached, though._

"_Hey, Dale, why do I have your shirt?"_

"_You've got more of me than just my shirt!"_

_Now, after all the time passed, it seemed funny. But right then they were past laughter. Especially she was. She was so carried away searching for some kind of pants that she paid no heed to Dale's next remark:_

"_I've always wanted to be close to Gadget, but not this close!"_

_She snapped at him not to touch her body—that was pretty simple, and she coped with it. But to hear, understand and evaluate his words… _

_--_

All the songs merged. Memory fragments lined up like a movie.

_"Through the fire and rain _

_Through the wilderness and pain _

_Through the losses, through the gains _

_On love's roller coaster train _

_I call your name…"_

_--_

_Today. Smashed kitchen. Her friends looking at her with hope. Chip's heartfelt speech…_

"_We, as a team, we've gone through many so many hardships. I believe that the invisible link between us is strong enough to endure even harsher things but it doesn't make it any less scary. With each passing day we see you more and more seldom. And we rarely hear your voice, your laughter. We miss you. I miss you…"_

_And here Dale interrupts. Not a minute earlier. Not a second later. Here and now, the very moment Chip proceeded from common to personal._

_--_

_"Your coat is hanging loosely _

_On your slender frame _

_There's many roads to leave by _

_But few come back again…"_

Word by word. Chord by chord. Shot by shot.

She used to think of Dale's tricks as amusing tomfoolery only. And each separate episode could be considered a joke or mere coincidence indeed. But taken together they, like stones carefully glued into a mosaic, formed the big picture. The CD's she found were the last missing piece, and now the picture was complete.

_I was so blind…_

_"Take a look around and see _

_What's stopping you is stopping me _

_One moonless night we'll make it right _

_And vanish in the dark of night…"_

She was aware that sometimes she got too carried away with the machinery, but treated that like something quite natural. She was good at it, and there was nothing wrong with that, right? But now the time devoted to inventions seemed wasted. Yes, her workshop was crammed with various inventions, the whole collection of vehicles stood in the garage, the planes on the landing strip—one plane, that is—never mind. That wasn't the point. She knew the slightest details of blueprints and schematics, but, it turned out, she was totally ignorant of others' feelings. It was too irrational for her to be of any value.

One more rainy song echoed boomingly in her tormented soul:

_"So many lifetimes you've been waiting for it _

_All through the good times _

_When you tried to ignore it _

_You hesitate _

_It's come too late _

_You hear the sound _

_Of when wheels engage…"_

--

"_As long as you know where you belong, that's what's important"._

--

Her words addressed to poor Pop Top, deceived by his closest companion. Her words brought faith and hope back to him. She found such bright words for him. But for her friends? There wasn't enough time, it turned out.

"Forgive me, guys…" she whispered in the darkness. "Forgive me, Dale…"

--

"_They…they…died…last year…"_

--

Her words again. There, in Bottlebottom, she thought it was a good way to lull the enemies' vigilance and give Dale and Zipper a free hand. Everything turned out in the best way possible. But didn't it turn out that by 'killing' her friends in her enemy's mind, she herself courted their death and is paying for this?

Now today's episodes started playing back before her inner sight. Here she, distraught with grief, flies into the fire but is saved by an accidental water cannon squirt. Here she, having flown over the entire sports complex and every square before it, plummets through a tree's canopy and lands right in the center of a grass heap. One foot left or right and that would be the end. But no, she stayed safe and sound. She was saved by Luke, who risked his own life to snatch her from under the multi-ton crane and who, despite his commander's direct order, remained in place and watched her running away.

Three flukes — a pattern. And if she wasn't allowed to redeem her fault with death, it remains only…

_--_

"_You must fly away."_

"_I won't fly away without all of you! I won't leave you!!"_

"_YOU MUST! I ORDER YOU! DO YOU HEAR? THAT'S AN ORDER!"_

_--_

…to redeem it with life.

Pop Top. The Coo-Coo Cola Cult. Harold Bucksup III. Small Central Hospital.

You should know where you belong, that's all.

--

"_And you should excuse me, but it's really a pleasure to see a patient today whom I can truly help…"_

--

Her inventions can't resurrect Chip, Dale, Monty and Zipper. But that doesn't mean they can't help someone else.

Tomorrow…that is, today in the morning, she'll gather everything which can be useful and go to Portero Avenue, 1001. She'll invent something. It will work. It should work. She'll be working for herself and for her friends. Who knows, maybe her equipment will save someone diagnosed hopeless by the doctors.

_In any case, I'll try. I have to try. Too bad I can't return and change everything…_

**8**

Gadget didn't remember falling asleep. But once she was awake she felt something was wrong. She tossed and turned, getting out from under the blanket.

_BLANKET?!_

Gadget sat up abruptly. At first she didn't understand where she was, but then she recognized her room and her bed. And her pink nightgown she was wearing.

"Could I have become a sleepwalker?" Gadget asked herself.

She got out of bed and looked at the alarm clock at the bedside. 7 AM. _Just like yesterday…_ Gadget thought and roused herself. It's time to make all ready for the hospital duty. _Time is of the essence! Someone may be dying there right now and I could be saving them!_ She grabbed her jumpsuit thrown offhandedly on the nearby chair…

A clean jumpsuit.

_Well, not too clean, but in comparison with yesterday's condition…okay, so I'm not only a sleepwalker, but also a sleepdresser and a sleepwasher. And sleep seamstress! And…_

Gadget felt her face all over then looked at the mirror on the wardrobe's door and saw that everything was all right—no scars, no scratches, no bruises, no plasters!

"It can't have healed so quick!" Gadget said to her own reflection. "On the other hand, who knows, maybe Doctor Stone's a better doctor than I thought. Oh, speaking of the doctor, I'd better get going!."

With her jumpsuit under her arm, Gadget exited her room and headed to the bathroom. Passing Monterey Jack's bedroom, she stopped and opened the door. As one would expect, the room was dark and empty.

"Forgive me, Monty," she sobbed. She closed the door softly and went downstairs. Already on the middle floor she smelled a cheese scent coming from the lower floor where kitchen was. _But I didn't cook anything yesterday. Must be wishful thinking. Or is it?_

"Golly, what if I truly became a somnambulist and sleep-cooked something at night?!" Gadget exclaimed and ran to check whether there indeed was some pan forgotten on the stove. The first thing she saw on arrival into the kitchen was the window. It was absolutely intact, despite Dale flying in right through it yesterday. She'd certainly heard that somnambulists could do things beyond the capabilities of normal people and animals, but to repair a window shattered into pieces!

And when Gadget was able to tear her gaze off the window and look at the oven where a strong cheese aroma was indeed coming from, she dropped her jumpsuit and froze stock-still.

At the oven, his back turned to the door, stirring cheese soup with a ladle in his large hand stood Monterey Jack.

**End of Part 1**

() See story 'Malf-Life'.


	2. Part 2 Today act I

**Part 2**

**Today**

**1**

"M… Mon… Monty…?" Gadget barely managed to speak. The fact she remained on her feet and didn't swoon at the sight of her deceased friend was a wonder all by itself. But the double wonder happened when Monterey turned to the sound of her voice and spoke.

"Hi, luv! I'm sorry, but the breakfast isn't ready yet, I didn't expect anyone to get up so early… What's da matter? Ya look like you've seenah ghost!"

"That… that was quite an observation, Monty," the mouse inventor answered in a much calmer voice. There was no reason to panic. Nobody had ever died of insanity and she heard it was quite curable. Just some hallucinations caused by a nervous breakdown. No wonder, taking into account what she went through yesterday.

"Besides," Monty noted, turning back to the oven, "I noticed ya didn't say 'good morning!' as ya usually do and I…"

"Good morning," Gadget said absentmindedly. After these words Monty froze, spat three times over each shoulder and put out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror-scrubbed frying pan hanging right in front of him. Then he grabbed some odd things from the table, did a couple of elaborate gestures and only after all of this turned to Gadget.

_He did it yesterday she thought. So that's how d__éjà vu looks like. And I never believed it was possible…_

Monty's voice was full of nervous tension. "You mustn't say 'good morning!' on a day like this! It's Saturday! The thirteenth!"

_He's speaking the same as yesterday, word for word. Now I should say something like 'How can you believe in all this? You've traveled all over the world, seen so much…'_

_WAIT! _

Gadget looked at the loose-leaf calendar in the corridor. It was indeed showing the number 13 in all its splendor.

Saturday, June 13th.

_Oh, come on! I simply forgot to tear this leaf off yesterday._ She went to the calendar with firm resolution to tear this darned page away and dispel this waking nightmare. But at the same time she didn't mind if it continued as long as possible…

"What in the name of holy jalapeño are ya doing?!" Monterey Jack ran to her and seized her hands extended toward the calendar. "Under no circumstances can ya do that! Only after midnight, or a great misfortune will ensue!"

"Let me go, Monty…!" Gadget yelled at him and instantly grew dumbfounded. Then slowly she touched his face with her paw and passed her fingers over his moustache and cheeks. He was as real as it was ever possible to be.

"What's with you, Gadget-luv?" the muscle mouse asked, concerned, taking her fingers with his palm. "You're all beside yerself. What happened? Please, tell me."

Gadget's answer was barely above a whisper. "Monty, you… you're alive…"

Monty gave a jump as if stung and rushed to his lucky charms headlong. Waving them twice as fast, he spat six times over each shoulder, bumped against the frying pan twice and only after all of this answered her.

"Gadget-luv, you don't joke like this!" Monty shouted. "You mustn't do that today… Wait! Where are ya goin'?"

But Gadget didn't listen. She ran to the door of Chip's and Dale's room and jerked it wide open. The outlines of two chipmunks sleeping at their usual places were clearly visible in the twilight. Gadget quietly closed the door, leaned her back against the wall and gradually slipped down on the floor.

**2**

"What's the matter with her, Monty?"

_Chip. I've never noticed just how pleasant his voice is…_

"I have no idea! She looked me like at some ghost, looked into yer room and here you go…"

_Monty…_

"That's because she saw me! I'm so handsome while sleeping!"

_And here is Dale. Thank goodness, they're all here. I must have died in my sleep…_

"Don't talk nonsense, Dale!"

"Okay, Mister Know-all, what's your version?"

_They are so funny…_

"Should ask her, I guess. Monty, bring some water!"

"Done. Here, Chip."

"Thanks. Well then…"

A cold water stream blew in Gadget's face. She gave a start and sat up abruptly, almost bumping her forehead on Chip's as he bent forward to her. For a moment or two she was just sitting there looking around. She was in her bed again with her jumpsuit which Monty had attentively brought from the kitchen lying across the blanket and her anxious friends gathered around. Gadget peered at their faces then blinked and shook her head but the vision didn't go away. But how could it be a vision when the half-filled glass of water in Chip's hand — here it is, drops of cold water on her face — here they are…

"How do you feel?" Monterey Jack asked, taking the inventor by the hand.

"I'm alright, thanks," Gadget mumbled. "And you…where are you from?"

"Oh no, she forgot us completely! She doesn't recognize us anymore…" Dale sighed sorrowfully.

"What do you mean 'where are you from'?" a bewildered Chip asked. "We're in our HQ. We live here. Do you really not recognize us?"

"Golly, what nonsense! Sure I recognize you! I simply thought…did you like the hockey game?"

"Hurrah, hurrah!" Dale immediately brightened and went on capering over the room. "Great! Marvelous! She recovered! She remembers about the hockey!"

"You can't forget that, you know…" Gadget said to herself in a low voice watching Dale's jumps.

"And we thought you forgot about the match!" Chip said, undisguised joy heard in his voice. "Will you come with us?"

"Where?"

"To the match, obviously!"

"But it was yesterday…"

Chip shook his head. "No, Gadget, you must be confusing it with something. The match is today, on Saturday, the thirteenth of June."

"But what was yesterday then?"

"Yesterday? Nothing. Friday, the twelfth. You were sitting in your workshop all day long… Remember?"

Now Gadget got completely confused. _If this is a hallucination, than it's too high-quality, if you can say that. Sound, color, touch…_

"Where are you going?" scared Chip asked when Gadget started getting out of bed.

"Just a minute… I must check—that is, to the bathroom! I'll be right back!"

Gadget ran out of the room. The other Rescue Rangers exchanged glances and ran after her.

Actually, Gadget wasn't going to the bathroom at all. Downstairs on the middle floor, she crossed the hall and ran out on the porch, nearly smashing the front door in the process. When Gadget saw what she was running to see she froze, but then her running friend's steps sounded behind her and the inventor took to her heels again.

The Ranger Plane, covered with the tarpaulin, was her destination. Running up to the vessel, she tore the cloth away. The Plane was intact. And now the final check. With all her might, Gadget kicked the wing. She screamed at the sharp pain, hopping on one leg and almost fell down when Zipper flew up and grabbed her by her night gown collar, which allowed other Rescue Rangers to catch her up.

"Gadget! What's with you?! Gadget!" Chip was shaking her by the shoulders.

"Luv! Darlin'! Say somethin'!" Monty asked with supplication.

"Gadget! Come to yourself! Wake up!" Dale shouted.

"Wait a minute, guys," Gadget answered at last, carefully lowering her hurt leg on the ground. "Stop shaking me, Chip! Let's all calm down. What day is today?"

"Saturday, the thirteenth," Chip said in a soft voice in which a totally desperate teacher explains a problem's situation to a negligent pupil for the tenth time.

"Okay, let's assume that's right. What day was yesterday?"

"Friday, the twelfth!" This time Dale answered instead of Chip.

"Very good. Can I ask you something, guys?"

"Certainly, Gadget, whatever you say!" the four Rescue Rangers answered all together.

"I need to be alone for some—"

"Wait a second!" Monterey Jack said. "Takin' into account your not quite adequate behavior, the swoon thing and this sudden inclination for self-mutilation," he alluded expressively to the Plane's wing still quivering, "we'd like know somethin' first."

"I'll certainly tell you everything," Gadget interrupted him, "but first I would like to change, at the very least."

"Oh, yes, sure." Chip instantly blushed. "But Gadget, please, don't start this HQ racing marathon once again, okay?"

"Sure!" she kissed Chip's cheek, paused for a moment, hugged Dale and kissed his lips, and only then did she head for the doors. The Rangers followed her with their eyes till she disappeared inside.

"Looks like our Gadgie got fully overworked," Monty said, twisting his finger against the temple.

"This case is strange for sure, but it's got something good in it!" Dale agreed. He hadn't recovered from her kiss yet and was dreamingly looking somewhere into the distance.

"We shouldn't let her out of our sight!" Chip cut Dale short, hurt to the heart with the difference in Gadget's attitude towards him and Dale. "Let's go, we need to discuss a plan!"

**3**

_If this is neither a dream, Gadget thought, zipping her jumpsuit up, nor hallucinations, nor delirium, then what is it?_

No scratches on the face. Her jumpsuit is clean and safe. The kitchen window is intact. The Ranger Plane is undamaged. Her friends are alive. It's Saturday the thirteenth again.

A question arises: what was yesterday?

No, not this one, but rather: was that yesterday at all?

And if it wasn't, then what was it?

_No, stop, it's even worse this way…_

And what if it's just her friends' joke?

_One heck of a joke, I must admit!!_

No, but if it really is? They understood that their persuasion wasn't working and decided to fake their deaths. At night they returned the Ranger Plane to the tree, dressed her up in her nightgown while she was sleeping (this thought caused her to turn beet red from ear points to the tail tip) and carried her to her room. And now they're enacting a farce…

_Yeah, and they also shot down a 747 to convince me more. Very funny…_

But they could have had nothing to do with it at all! Maybe they were just late for this ill-fated game and then decided to profit by this occasion? They left the Rangermobile in the bushes, and then…

_But Sparky saw them! He asserted they had been there!_

Well, Sparky could have made a mistake…

Maybe, they're all playing the same game?!

Okay, let's assume it's true. That is, it's a joke. Her friends restored everything to yesterday's state and are now laughing into their sleeves…

_No, they are not like this! How can I even think of them so badly?!_

BUT WHAT THE HECK IS IT, THEN?!

_Stop, Gadget, stop. Let's go over all of it again…_

Her friends restored everything like it was yesterday. Fixed the kitchen window. Repaired the Ranger Plane…

_And did it pretty fast!_ Her damage amounted to five day's work at least, but they fixed it up in just in a couple of hours…

Okay, let's assume they repaired her. Reverted everything back…

But there was something they couldn't have reverted!

Gadget went to the workshop. However high her estimation of her friends' abilities was, it seemed impossible that they could have repaired her workshop to the state it was in yesterday in the morning. Even she herself wouldn't be able to do it. And it wasn't just the point that she didn't remember what lied where; the point was that some things were just plain irreversible. The pneumatic pistols she'd assembled for nailing up the grapples could've been dismantled somehow, but it was problematic to turn the electrolyzed potassium she'd mixed back into an electrolyte…

_They did it! But how?_

Gadget looked at her workshop and didn't recognize it. Or rather, she recognized it too well. Here were the unfinished pneumatic pistols, details waiting for final grinding gripped in a vice. There were the cans with the ingredients and the first trial portions of her super glue. The electrolytic tanks she'd prepared on Friday. Separate components of the new jet aircraft's framework which she had been clamping together for half a day yesterday!

No matter how strongly her friends wished to play a trick on her, they just couldn't have carried all this through.

_Just some kind of phantasmagoria. Okay, well, let's assume they are engineering geniuses. At heart. Somewhere deep inside. And they restored everything._

But there was one element left which they couldn't have restored despite their wish and all their engineering genius.

The Ice-Dome.

_To the Ranger Plane, then! By the way, let's see how my friends repaired the demolished stadium.. If they were behind it all, that is…_

**4**

The flight to Ice-Dome and back raised more questions than gave answers. Or, to put it more precisely, it answered one small question and raised another huge one.

WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?!

Her friends had nothing to do with it. Even moreso, they were absolutely right.

Just like yesterday, it took Gadget certain efforts to start the Ranger Plane. She hadn't been used for a very long time. And, what was more important, she hadn't been repaired.

The very absence of black smoke clouds visible from many miles over the city indicated that something was wrong. Or, if you please, that everything is alright. The view of silver mass of Ice-Dome sparkling in the morning sun removed all doubts once and for all.

And the digital clock on the City Hall's building showed the date '06/13', which just added slightly to the confirmation of the already obvious conclusion.

_Today is yesterday._

Gadget understood two things. First — that she doesn't understand anything. Second — that if it really was what she thought it was, namely that very chance to change everything she prayed for at night, her friends won't go to the hockey match.

Landing near the headquarters' door, she sat in the cockpit for a couple of minutes gathering thoughts and thinking over her strategy of dissuading her friends from attending this match. It will be hard. It will be painful. It will be unpleasant. But she ought to do it. For all of them.

Gadget got out of the plane and headed to the door. Each step came easier than the previous. Her determination grew stronger and stronger, along with the necessary words. _Hope they didn't devised a plan like yesterday… _

Her friends were sitting at the semicircular sofa, especially for this occasion turned around to face the entrance. Chip sat straight, his hands crossed on his chest, his black eyes watching strictly and guardedly. Dale, to the contrary, leaned back and looked at her dreamingly and amorously, at the same time fearing that this magnificent dream would disperse and Gadget would become indifferent to him once again. Monterey Jack thoughtfully tousled his moustache. Even Zipper, settled on the back of the sofa, looked very alarmed.

"And what are you…?" Gadget began but Chip didn't let her finish.

"Where have you been!" he asked abruptly in a tone in which they interrogate suspects in detective stories.

"Me? I was flying…"

"Where were you flying? What were you flying for?"

"Stop playing the detective, Chip!" Dale bristled up. "Don't you dare talk to Gadget like this!"

"No, she must explain!" Chip insisted.

"Don't press her!"

"It's not your business."

"My business?! I…"

"STOP IT NOW!!" Gadget yelled making the window glass tremble. Startled, Chip and Dale broke off their brewing fight. Monty froze, his moustache wound around his finger, and Zipper fell off from the sofa.

"What are you doing, after all? You, you…how can you…" Gadget couldn't recover her breath after her own shout. She clean forgot all the words she had sorted out on the way from the Ranger Plane to the door and now she once again needed time to formulate her thoughts clearly. She spoke with cut phrases, afraid of Chip jumping down her throat once more, forcing Dale to stand up for her again and everything having another go.

At least she started again. "I… I must tell you something. Explain."

"Yeah, explain, please!" Monty intervened. "We're almost gone loony bonkers in here!"

"I've almost gone mad myself," she said, her voice calmer now. "Sorry to have acted so strange…"

Chip instantly brightened. Dale hanged his head.

Gadget added hastily, "This doesn't mean I was completely out of control of my actions."

Dale broke into wide smile. Chip covered his face with the paw. The mouse understood that this conversation would do no good and she needed to change the subject. But how? All of a sudden the way out presented itself.

"Friends," she spoke, trying to reproduce Chip's 'yesterday' words as close as possible. "I understand that you're very worried about me. I want to thank you for this. I must admit that recently I was too carried away with my work. It could've seemed to you that I was becoming too estranged from you and, as far as I understand, it concerns and maybe even scares you. So, I'd like to apologize for that. Yes, I got carried away. Overworked. Please, forgive me. I…I've never forgotten about you. Not for a minute! I'm very sorry to give you occasion to doubt it."

As she spoke, the anxious expressions disappeared from her friends' faces, giving place first to intrigue and then to the deep caring. Chip was simply crushed on the spot, for the mouse inventor almost word for word said what he himself was going to tell her. The realization that his and Gadget's feelings had so much in common filled the chipmunk's heart with light and warmth and he, deeply inspired, ran up to the mouse.

"Gadget! How could you ever think about us like that! We've never doubted it! I've never doubted it," Chip said.

"Come on, Gadget, let's go to the hockey match today!" Dale interrupted jumping up to them. "We haven't been out for a very long time, and the match promises to be simply fantastic! And you know, tomorrow A-Kha will have a grand concert in our city! One performance only! I've already looked for the seats! I'm pretty sure you'll like it!"

Chip turned on Dale in a rage. "DALE! How could you… You spoiled everything! You… you…"

Gadget, remembering what followed after these words 'yesterday', wedged herself between two friends ready to start regular fight and pulled them apart. But now, thanks to Dale's words, she was able to proceed to the most important topic, the hockey match.

"Stop quarrelling, guys!" Gadget protested. "Either you sit and listen to me or I will go away and—"

"No, no! We're listening! We're listening!" Chip and Dale, pretty scared with such a grim perspective, raced one another to the sofa. Gadget waited until they were seated, then went on.

"Now I want to explain my morning's conduct. You see, I dunno how to tell it. I had a prophetic dream!"

"A prophetic dream? You?" Monterey Jack was very surprised. "But ya don't believe in all those 'superstitions', do ya?"

"I didn't. But now I do," Gadget said, collecting herself again. "The dream was, well, just like reality. It was so real that I thought I was dreaming when I woke up, and the thing I thought was real was actually a dream instead."

"Ehm, could you please repeat all that?" Dale raised his hand—all these mental calculations were too complex for him. Chip nudged him and showed him a finger pressed against the lips. Dale wanted to answer but, having come across Gadget's truly ice-cold stare restrained himself.

"So you wanna say, that's why ya looked at me like at some spooky ghost, right?" Monty inquired.

"Yes, that's right."

"That is, you wanna say," Australian went on in a cheerless voice, "that in your dream I… me…"

"Yes, Monty, exactly." Gadget decided to keep from saying such words as 'died' or 'perished'. Who knows…

"And Chip 'n' Dale?"

"Them too."

"And Zipper?"

"And Zipper."

"And me…? Oh, I seem to have asked already…"

"All of you."

"And you?"

"And I remained."

"Oh, Gawd…" Monty murmured. "It's not without purpose! I told ya! You can't mess with Saturday the thirteenth! But you didn't believe me!" He addressed the chipmunks sitting like stuffed dummies. They didn't answer, struck by Gadget's dreadful words, and such a silence settled in the hall that the numbers on the wall-mounted digital watches seemed to be heard changing.

Chip was first to regain his senses. "Gadget, I understand everything, but don't you think that all those dreams aren't worth taking too seriously? Generally speaking—"

"Please, Chip! Believe me! You all have to believe me! I beg you, don't go to the match today!"

"But Gadget, it's the coolest match in the last ten years! Maybe the whole history of the world! Dale retorted. "You're just tired. You worked real hard last month."

"Why don't you ever believe me?!" Gadget cried in desperation. "Do I have nightmares too often or what?! On some ordinary day I'd be the first laugh about it! But today…"

"She's right, lads," Monty observed, "today's not an ordinary day!"

Chip clutched his head. "Well, as if one overly superstitious Rescue Ranger wasn't enough…"

"It is not a superstition!" Gadget was ready to cry. "I SAW IT!! I WENT THROUGH THIS!!"

She winked rapidly, trying to make the tears starting in her eyes go away. Not now. Her tears would spoil everything. They would definitely consider her some deranged mouse who goes into hysterics at any given cause or even without it.

"Please, Gadget, don't cry!" Dale stepped up to her and put his arm on her shoulder. "Here, take my handkerchief. It isn't too clean, but still…"

"Thanks, Dale," Gadget said, drying her moist eyelids. Returning him the handkerchief, she took the chipmunk by his hand and looked right into his eyes.

"If no one else, you believe me, Dale! Please!" Gadget said.

"I'd like to…" Dale answered in a weak voice, unable to look aside from her sky-blue eyes. "But the match…I've been waiting so long…"

Here Gadget had a brain-wave. "But you can watch the game on TV!" she exclaimed.

"That's true for sure," Chip answered, "but we always watch it on TV, and here's such an opportunity to be engrossed with the holiday atmosphere and feel a part of one united fan body!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Dale nodded in agreement. "To blow the fife, to wave a scarf, to jump…"

"But you can surely do this at home! Chip will wear his scarf, you'll put the jersey on and all your pads and you two will be…what?!" She abruptly stopped, seeing Chip and Dale frozen with eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers.

"H…how…how do you know about my scarf?" Chip's voice trembled. "I bought it just yesterday. You couldn't have seen it!"

"And about my jersey? And pads?" Dale added, nervous.

Gadget barely refrained from joyful jumping. This is it, this is it! She found the proof! Found what to persuade them with!

"That's from my dream," she explained, trying to keep her voice steady. "You, Chip, wore a blue-red scarf. And you, Dale, a full set of hockey equipment. And a stick."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…" Dale chattered. He ran up to Chip and almost yelled straight into his friend's ear. "She knows! She knows about the scarf! About the jersey! About the stick…! She knows it all! She…she's just like Cassandra! She's clair…clair…SHE KNOWS ALL ABOUT GHOSTS AND THE FUTURE AND STUFF!"

Chip was so stunned he didn't give a try to ward off Dale's incessantly jerking him by the collar. It was illogical. Impossible! He didn't believe in all this. But no sooner had Dale mentioned Cassandra than Chip felt tingles run down his spine. The Rescue Rangers leader knew some prophecies really came true. And although he didn't die as the prophet gypsy moth had predicted, the image of the falling trunk did loom in his memory and his dreams. Naturally, Chip never told anyone about it.

"Okay, boys, listen to me!" Monterey Jack thundered. "I know what yer thinkin' of superstitions, of my amulets and evil eye repelling rituals and all. Do what ya like. But personally, me and Zipper will stay home and watch this match on TV! Am I right, Zippah?"

The fly squeaked his agreement. Monty got up from the sofa, which creaked under his weight, came up to Gadget and embraced her fatherly.

"I believe ya, lass! Maybe it's a sign from above. Maybe it's a Julius Seizure, like the kind Cassandra's havin'. Maybe it's a message from ol' Geegaw. I don't know. But I believe you. You aren't the mouse girl to make this all up and pull our legs now. Today's the day when everything's possible. I'm sorry to have thought you were loony."

"Thanks, Monty," Gadget whispered, nestling up to him. The strong mouse's dense sweater pricked slightly but to her it felt warm and inviting. It and the hug instilled additional confidence that everything happening was real

"Yeah, Chip," Dale said. "Think what you please, but I believe Gadget!" Dale put his hand on the inventor's shoulder and looked into her eyes, hoping to see the same light as a couple of minutes before. In response the mouse extended her hand and caressed his cheek making Dale melt completely. He bent forward to kiss her but his lips came to rest upon fur-lined collar of Chip's jacket, who rapidly edged his way between them, and Dale started loudly spitting out fur clotted in his mouth.

"Gadget, forgive me for being rude…" Chip began, but Gadget just nodded shortly, her eyes closed and thinking something to herself. Chip sobbed shortly to himself and left the headquarters completely out of spirit.

He had absolutely no idea what had happened to Gadget. For a full month she paid no attention to either of them at all, thoroughly engrossed in her work. And never before had she showed so much preference to Dale like now. Could he have missed something? Or maybe his behavior today was the reason? But what had he done? There were times when he was harsh to her, especially when her inventions' malfunctions endangered their lives. But she had always forgiven him…

Or had she?

Maybe she only pretended doing so, but in fact her patience was running out and today gave way completely.

"Why didn't I believe her? Why did I shout at her? Why did I go into interrogating mode? Fool! Fool!" Chip slapped himself, climbing higher and higher into the tree's dense canopy. In his tortured thoughts, he, blinded with jealousy, with his own hands saw himself tear that very thread connecting him to the most beautiful mouse in the world…

OR, MAYBE TO THE RESCUE RANGERS ALTOGETHER?!

He turned around and looked at the door he'd left behind. At the porch which looked small to him. At the landing strip, foot-worn to the length and breadth in all these years. At the old faithful Ranger Plane.

"Is this all?" Chip asked himself. He could have never imagined he would be able to quit the Rescue Rangers someday. Other team members left. He — never. He couldn't allow himself to do it.

But right now he was feeling lonely like never before.

Who needs him at all now?!

_Zipper? Oh, come on…_

_Monterey Jack? What for? He's older, stronger, more experienced…_

_Dale? Dale's got Gadget._

_And Gadget's got Dale…_

Chip didn't remember when the last time he had cried properly. He even forgot how it felt,

He remembered it now.

"Chip! Where are you? Chip!"

_Gadget. Gadget is looking for me_

_The question is, what for?_

_But suppose…?_

Chip began to wipe his face dry with his fedora and collar. Gadget shouldn't see him like this! Under no circumstances!

"Golly, Chip, here you are!"

_Too late, she's here already._ Chip pulled his hat over his eyes in such a way as to see nothing anymore. That's alright. If his eyes don't see anything, nobody will see his eyes…

It didn't help, though.

"Chip!" Gadget ran up to him and, having pulled his hat off, took his face into her paws and turned him toward herself. "Golly! I…I don't know how this happened! I…I just…"

"No, really, I'll get over it…" Chip spoke quietly, compressing within like a spring under stamping press.

"Golly, Chip, listen to me! Yesterday…that is, in a dream…that is, I…"

"Well, if you've got an omen that you should be with Dale, then, certainly…"

"WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" Gadget shouted in a fit of temper. "Don't you understand? I thought I'd lost you! ALL OF YOU! That I'm searching for you first in the Ice-Dome, then in some Small Central Hospital…"

"Small Central? Yes, I know it," Chip answered just to say something.

"No, really…? See, it's the same as with your scarf and Dale's equipment! I had no idea that such a hospital exists! Yesterday I didn't know it! You understand?! Chip, say something! Please!"

"So all of this is—" he began, slowly regaining his senses and hope again.

"You are all dear to me!" Gadget said. "Zipper — as a friend and team member. Monty — as a comrade and my father's old friend. You and Dale — as the closest and the dearest friends in the world. Do you copy, Chip?"

_A reason to rejoice at last._ Apparently he still had a chance…

"But why are you so affectionate with D…"

He didn't have time to finish the question. Gadget put her arms around his neck and for a minute or maybe more their lips joined.

**5**

The emerald tree canopy rocked droningly, its shadow forming intricate ever-changing traces. Because of the dense crown blocking the sun's rays it was hard to imagine that the parching heat was indeed reigning in the streets. Chip gently caressed Gadget's golden hair, time and again carefully brushing away the leaves flying in from above torn off by stray wind. Most of all he was afraid of all this being just a dream, the kind Gadget had last night, which he doubted no more, as real as it was ever possible to be, but still just an illusion.

"Forgive me for my rudeness," he whispered quietly.

"Don't, Chip. It's my fault."

"No, it isn't! I shouldn't have said all that. And in such a voice. I was just scared to death—oh, I'm sorry!" Chip hastily corrected himself as he felt Gadget flinching at the word 'death'. Once again the silence fell. Chip thought that was even better. He felt himself much more comfortable this way. The needed words weren't coming to mind and the random ones could destroy everything in a blink of an eye.

"Why did you leave?" Gadget broke the protracted pause. "You weren't going to…?"

"Certainly, not!" Chip answered a bit louder and quicker than needed. Or even too loud and too quick, for that matter. Gadget sensed it so distinctly she felt herself chilled from within.

"Golly, Chip! Don't go away, please! Stay!" Gadget said.

Chip shook his head, trying to convince her. "What are you talking about, Gadget? How can I leave? Do you know what Dale will turn our room into?" The joke sounded rather tame and unconvincing.

"I'm very bad at feelings," she went on without any reaction to his words. "I've got no problems with inventions, but with feelings—"

"No, Gadget, it's me who's very bad at them…"

Gadget didn't answer. She had nothing to answer him with. But it wasn't Chip's fault. She almost ruined everything all by herself. She can be understood too, though. The truth of Dale's feelings which came to light yesterday staggered her so much that she, having good intentions to correct everything, began to compensate him what she had owed him through all these years.

But she hadn't thought how it would look on the part of those around, especially Chip, who just couldn't understand that terrible 'yesterday' that didn't exist for him. Even Gadget herself couldn't tell whether that 'yesterday' existed at all. Maybe some day she should visit Cassandra and ask her what sensations she has during those her 'Julius Seizures', as Monty put it.

She couldn't explain all this to Chip, though. First, she had no right, for it would be foul toward Dale who apparently had his reasons to hide his feelings on the whole. And second, she was afraid that Chip would think that all these her words, this prolonged kiss and she being here now, by his side, were also compensation. Some sort of damage repair.

_AND WHAT IF IT'S INDEED SO?!_

_I'm an emotionally challenged rodent,_ Gadget thought. _Even now I'm trying to reduce everything to a common denominator like two halves of equation. Like a theorem. Like…Like…golly-y-y…_

"Gadget! What happened? Please, don't cry!" Chip chattered in fear as he felt her shaking all over. "It's alright! I won't go anywhere! I promise! I won't leave the Rangers or you! Never! You hear me?! Just don't cry! Please, don't…"

He clasped the beautiful mouse to himself, mentally cursing himself for all the stinging, offensive, sometimes outright rude words he had ever dared to say or think about her. And for what, one can ask? For some misunderstandings some inessential malfunctions. Each wince, each sobbing the mouse maid experienced made his heart clench tightly and his body cramp.

_I am a monster. Beast! Soulless blockhead!_ How could he even think of leaving, of deserting her and his friends? True Rescue Ranger, as they say… How dare he to inflict downright cross-examination on her? Who gave him the right to do it? And how many fine words he devised while they were waiting for her to return.

_We rarely hear your voice, your laughter…_

_Parting is the most dreadful part of it all…_

_The invisible link between us…_

_The thin thread which makes us a team…_

Just words… And what's then? _We shouldn't let her out of our sight! Where have you been? Where were you flying?…_

"I don't deserve you, Gadget…" Chip whispered, pressing his cheek to her delicate fringe.

"No… I don't deserve all of you…" she answered tearfully.

"Don't say non… such things! You are the best in the world!"

She lifted her face and looked into his black eyes sparkling with moisture.

"You don't know… I…"

"I don't want to know!" Chip said and closed her mouth with his own.

**6**

**--**

"**Hello, America! Basil Sands' on the line, Casey Rodriguez is here in our studio and we begin the coverage of the decisive seventh game of Stanley Cup Finals series. Today all roads lead to the Ice-Dome. No, no, you haven't misheard anything and it's not a new name for the San-Angeles Rangers arena 'cause, you know, it happens to be in a whole other city, for this match is held on the neutral ground…"**

"**That's certain if you can call neutral ground the closest neighbor city of San-Angeles!"**

"**You've got your point, Casey! It's common knowledge that the Disciplinary Committee's verdict instilled a controversy. But the Chairman of the Committee commented on the verdict that, I'll quote here, 'the home ground philosophy is a cornerstone of League matches' conducting policy', end of quote. Besides, the official investigation revealed that last week's disorders in the stands had been instigated by the Michigan team's fans, and it couldn't have had an impact on the Committee's decision. So if you ask me, I'm gonna say that justice triumphed in this case. Besides, having fought their way to the seventh game, the Rangers proved themselves in a mood to fight to the end…"**

"**And the heroic breakthrough by Mark Sheffield in the last seconds of sixth game, when the East Coast was already ready and waiting with their champagne at hand, is a decisive proof to that!"**

"**Yes, it was a phenomenal moment! So, as I was saying, they decided to play this game not too far away from San-Angeles, and I feel I'll have a hard time calling this arena 'neutral ground'…"**

"**We're all visitors here, but the Michigan Red Stars are more the visitors than the Rangers!"**

"**That was the definite catchphrase of the day, Casey! As you all can see, Ice-Dome is packed tonight, and there's no surprise here! There were no tickets available looong before the day of the match…"**

**--**

"Heh…" Monterey Jack sighed with sorrow twisting the precious blue ticket in his hands. "I still feel somewhat uneasy. Old Benny tried his hardest, and then we…"

"I understand, Monty," Gadget nodded. "But the dream…"

"It's all right, luv. I'm sure if I saw somethin' like that tonight, I would turn everythin' over here upside down!"

The Rescue Rangers were sitting on the sofa, turned around to face the TV again. Monty sat to the left, chipmunks in the center, and Gadget right in the middle between them. Zipper established his foothold in the overhead lamp hanging from the ceiling.

As the mouse inventor had predicted, Chip wound the muffler with the San-Angeles Rangers emblems around his neck, while Dale put on his full hockey player's equipment. With all this going on he tried to simultaneously eat, hold his stick and adjust the mask which constantly slipped down on his face.

Gadget, who sat right next to him, felt not too comfortable but she didn't bother. After all, it was she who offered to let Dale to watch the match dressed up exactly like 'yesterday' when he went to the stadium. Besides, grown wise with sad experience, she didn't want to traumatize Dale's soul again, which turned out to be very sensitive. Right now, at the sight of all his antics, it was hard to believe, but Gadget knew that all this was a put on—something like a protective nutshell concealing the core of a flawless diamond.

Chip, who had never missed any single opportunity to tease his friend before, especially in the presence of the pin-up mouse inventor, now didn't pay any attention to Dale's torments at all. He was sitting with his hands on his knees. As far back as this morning he had imagined himself embracing Gadget on the Ice-Dome stands. Formally nothing changed. They were watching the same match, albeit on TV. They were sitting side by side. But something was wrong.

While Chip's lips still held the warmth of their kisses high up in the thick tree crown, his heart was filled with sorrow and he didn't know why. Maybe he understood something. Maybe he sensed something. Maybe he grew more mature in that moment up there. Not older, but mature.

Before now he had seen everything like this: there was him, Dale and Gadget. Just like that — Dale as if a wall between him and Gadget, every now and then striving to appear from nowhere and spoil everything for the thousandth time. Now it was him, Gadget and Dale. Not Dale between him and Gadget, but her between them. Not as a wall, though, but as a bridge.

She had become that bridge from their very first meeting in that vintage Mitchell airplane and remained it since then. Who knows where he would be now if it weren't for her. Chip's childhood and youth were rather stormy. In his time he'd had many different friends and acquaintances, but his youthful freewheeling and highly nasty temper rapidly scared all of them away. It would have ultimately scared Dale away too. Their next squabble would have inevitably grown into an altercation and parting. And there would be no Rescue Rangers, and his entire life would have little to no meaning. But then they met her.

"HURRAH!" Dale shouted suddenly, springing up from the sofa and immediately falling back under his pads' weight, which caused everybody to flip up. "We've scored! Hurrah!"

"Good start! And high time it is! Half a period elapsed, after all!" Monty, who had to shout almost at the top of his voice to be heard through the commentator's enthusiastic outcries and spectators' roars.

"Chip! The Rangers scored!" Gadget merrily nudged the chipmunk lost in his thoughts. As for Gadget, it was all the same for her. First, she didn't really understand this sport. Second, she was constantly waiting for the worst thing to happen. But she considered it her portion to rejoice along with her friends and to cheer up Chip in the process, who was clearly overwhelmed with not too pleasant thoughts.

"What? Really? Great!" Chip smiled too, but it was all too labored. No one but Gadget noticed. She for her part touched Chip's shoulder and tried to look into his eyes. But Chip, still looking straight in front of him, barely visibly shook his head and whispered 'please, don't' with his lips only. Gadget, having understood that all this was of no concern to him now, turned her look back to the screen.

"Gadget, do you want something?" Chip heard Dale's voice. He turned his head slightly to observe Gadget smiling and taking a small sandwich from the plate presented.

"Thanks, Dale, you're so thoughtful…"

--

_They were driving the new Rangermobile through the city backstreets. Gadget gave a seat behind the butterfly wrench to Monty and moved to the back seat where the food basket stood, which Dale had prepared cautiously and neatly (Chip too was impressed) for the picnic._

_For his picnic with Gadget. But Gadget, having previously used the flowerpot presented by Chip as a fan blades holder (which hurt Chip right in his heart), invited everybody for the picnic. For a long time after that Chip couldn't contain his laughter remembering how depressed Dale had looked then. And, as a matter fact, draw in their attempts to attract Gadget suited Chip much more…_

"_More lemonade?" Dale asked the mouse sitting next to him, fetching a thimble-pot from beneath a back seat._

"_Sure! Don't mind if I do!" Chip interfered then, holding out his bottle-cap cup to Dale._

_Dale got angry._

"_Get your own drink! This is mine!"_

"_Oh, yeah?" He flew into passion himself then. The scuffle ensued, which resulted in the loss of lemonade and battery short-out…_

--

'How foolish!' Chip thought, dismissing the memories sweeping over. To start fighting because of such a mere trifle as offered lemonade. But at that time he was eager to do everything in order not to allow Dale to do Gadget a good turn, to win her sympathies.

And what now?

Now he was seeing one old friend politely offering another old friend a sandwich.

**7**

**--**

"**Okay, folks, we're all eagerly waiting a whistle to begin the second period of this truly fantastic game!"**

"**Is this just the second one, Basil? From where I'm sitting, it's got to be the twentieth…"**

"**Wow! I haven't thought about that! But, if you're gonna count all the periods in all the matches, then it's more like the twenty-second!"**

"**Why is that…? Oh, you must mean those two epic overtimes!"**

"**Yes, I surely mean them, Casey! I personally won't forget them for a very long time…! The Rangers are leading here 1 to 0. Let me remind you that the first and as for now only goal was scored by Justin Peterson in the eleventh minute. Don't you dare switch the channel, 'cause it will be getting only bigger!"**

"**And better…!"**

**--**

By the middle of the second period Gadget had adjusted somewhat and the events on the rink slowly started to carry her away. She didn't need to ask what colors the Rangers were in. One only needed to look at Dale to know it. Her friends' sincere emotions accompanying one or another moment resounded with bright happiness in her soul. Especially Chip's emotions, who livened up noticeably after the break.

Turning to him from time to time, she caught his warm gaze directed at her. It looked like he had changed his mind about leaving. At least she greatly hoped so. The ice-cold fear of catastrophe fettering her heart gradually started to thaw away. Hockey players were dashing across the rink, sticks were tapping, excited spectators were shouting. Nothing seemed to be able to ruin this sports festival.

And what if she indeed just dreamt yesterday's events? What if it was only exhausted nerves and imagination run high? She had been working at full stretch lacking sleep and undereating for almost a month. She dreamt about her workshop and piles of blueprints. Even in her sleep she went on searching for answers to the problems accumulated through the day. Something could have shorted out in her work-weary brain.

But how can you explain her knowing about Chip's scarf, Dale's equipment and Small Central Hospital's existence then?

The last was probably the easiest. She could have heard it with half an ear during one of her rare sorties into the outside world. At that time she had paid no heed to it, but her subconscious had recorded the information and later the complete image was built from one brief mentioning. The scarf and the equipment could be explained by one of the rare times she'd watched a game or maybe highlights on the news where fans wearing their idols' full equipment could be seen—not to mention such a trinket as a scarf with the favorite team's symbols.

The chipmunks' attitude to fan clothing was in full accordance with her friends' personalities. Conservative and reserved Chip got by with the scarf only, while expressive and loud Dale didn't stop before putting on everything he had managed to find.

"Croikey, what the heck 'av' ya done?! Are ya blind or what?!" Monterey Jack yelled, striking his fist on the sofa. He was addressing a Rangers' defender, who in an attempt to get rid of two opposing players' tight defense tried to throw the puck along the board to his teammate. But the black disk brushed against some microscopic rut, ricocheted suddenly and went right to the stick of the Red Stars' forward.

"He'll come out one on one! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Please, don't score!" Dale shouted, knocking at the floor with his stick. It didn't help, though. With a couple of subtle maneuvers the forward faked the goaltender and shot the pluck in the corner of the gate. The siren wailed, the red light twinkled, 'red' sectors of the stands gaily jumped to their feet. Monty clutched his head contritely and Dale hit himself in the forehead causing his mask to fall down on his face again.

**--**

"**Did you see that, Basil? One tiny mistake and there's the payback!"**

"**Yes, Casey. In the match featuring such brilliant teams every slip is punished immediately and severely. Dawson will hear many unflattering words, that's for sure. Especially if this goal turns out to be the turning-point!"**

"**Well, I wouldn't put the cart before the horse when at least one and a half periods are ready and waiting. 'Cause, as we all know, in hockey every second counts!"**

"**Let's hope the fresh Ranger five will be able to turn the beam to their favor, for after having scored first they're losing the initiative…"**

**--**

_Oh, Golly,_ Gadget silently regretted, _The Rangers suffered a goal. How can you entrust a human with the task of goalkeeping, when he barely sees the puck?! They should have started installing some kind of photoelectric cell-controlled automatic shutters on the gates a long time ago!_

She felt Chip putting his arm round her shoulders. "Don't be upset, Gadget. The Rangers will score again!"

"I know…" mouse answered and was stunned—a simple word expressing simple acknowledgement. But it lashed like a pulled trigger.

--

_"Yeah, sure… So, Dale's in a hockey uniform, the Rangers just scored and he literally jumped up and tore Chip's hat right from his head and started swinging with it. Chip got angry and tried to take it back. Honestly, I even forgot about the game. I watch them fighting, watch Monterey… Monterey, am I right? Oh, good, than I haven't forgotten. Memory, don't let me down. Sorry, I digressed again. So I'm watching them and then 'Bang!'..."_

--

Sparky. Hospital. Yesterday.

Gadget spied another hand on her shoulders. This time it was Dale, who couldn't have overlooked Chip's gesture and decided if not to nip friend's inclinations in the bud then at least to do the same and not allow the rival to reign completely over the dear mouse's attention. Gadget looked at Dale.

Dale smiled broadly and amorously but Gadget was able to catch the look of grudge and jealousy Dale had previously shot at Chip. The mouse clenched inwardly anticipating their next heated wrangle but nothing happened. Chip continued to hug her paying no attention to Dale's hand lying over his own, though it was impossible not to notice. It was so out of the usual order of things formed over the years that even Dale apparently knew something was wrong, for though he was continuously looking at Gadget, time and again he just for a moment shifted his gaze to Chip sitting as if it was nothing at all.

_That's, uhm, not good…_ Gadget thought. But she returned Dale a smile. She couldn't afford not to return it. After all, he'd concealed his feelings for so long.

_DISKS!_

Gadget almost jumped up, thunderstruck by the sudden thought. While the hospital, the scarf and the uniform could have been more or less explained with tricks of the mind and subconscious, those disks with songs by A-Kha in Dale's room couldn't. She was absolutely sure she had neither seen any of their disks nor heard any of their songs ever before.

_WHAT IF THEY AREN'T THERE?!_

It needs to be checked out. It must be. Now. Immediately.

"Where are you going, Gadget?" a surprised and somewhat offended Dale inquired.

"I…there…I'll take empty plates! To the kitchen!" Gadget went on collecting dishes and cups from the small table.

"Need help?" Dale asked trying to get up.

"No-no, it's alright! Watch the match, I'll manage it perfectly!"

"Are ya sure it's alright?" Monty frowned. "You seem somewhat—"

"Golly, Monty, everything's fine! Maybe somebody wants something, if I—"

"Yes! More lemonade!" came Dale's eager reply.

"And grab a pack of cheese balls! No, two!" the Australian added.

"Lemonade. Cheese balls. Got it! I'll be right back! Jiffy-quick!"

Descending downstairs, Gadget ran to the chipmunks' room. But then she remembered about the plates and headed back to the kitchen. Then she further remembered about the disks and went back to the room. Finally she concluded that plates don't belong in the chipmunks' bedroom, returned to the kitchen and threw her burden into the sink. She ran back but stood still at the doors.

Rummaging in others' things is a bad thing, after all. How would she react if she found that Chip or Dale went through her room in her absence? Circumstances were completely different 'yesterday', but now. Forgive me, guys she begged mental pardon and, her spirit plucked up, crossed the threshold.

The room looked exactly like 'yesterday'. Common order on Chip's half, common disorder on Dale's. The wardrobe was slightly ajar… Well, that's not important now. Gadget darted to the disks shelf. It's not it, it also isn't… Where is it? Was it indeed merely a product of her imagination?

No, here it is. Same cover, same title. "Theme Song from Dirk Suave 00 Movie 'The Daylight Savings'. Single."

Gadget sat down on the floor and went on looking through the discs on the lowest shelf, in the utmost and dustiest corner of the shelving. And when she found them she barely managed to hold them with her violently shaking hands.

'Lesser Earth, Greater Sky'.

'West of the Sun, East of the Moon'.

All the same, to the smallest detail possible.

But if it's really so, then…

Loud joyful shouts from the hall made her rouse. She hastily slammed the disks back onto the shelf and bounded upstairs jumping two or even three stairs at a time. Panting for breath, she flew into the hall to see Dale finishing some warlike dance. Having made the last circle around the stick he held in his hand, he threw his helmet, on the sofa. Then, with wild hooting, Dale tore Chip's hat right from his head and started waving it around.

Gadget remembered Sparky's words again and was about to go to pull apart the chipmunks who, according to all nature's laws and 'yesterday's' testifying, had to start fighting unavoidably. But Chip stood still, smiling indulgently at Dale's grimacing and when red-nosed chipmunk finally got exhausted, and without any word took the hat out of his hand, shook it off a couple of times and put on as though it had been simply hanging on the wall hook before that.

_That's strange…_ But then it occurred to her that if this part of Sparky's 'yesterday's' words hadn't come true, it's quite possible the other part wouldn't come true either.

**--**

"**Oh, what a moment!! What a goal!! What would you say, Basil?"**

"**I think that our dear audience just witnessed the Wonder with a capital 'W'! How else can we call what just happened? It's unexplainable!"**

"**Well, during these Finals we've seen so many unexplainable things already…"**

"**You're right, Casey. But this pass, this throw between the legs of TWO defenders, and finally the absolutely phenomenal flair that Shannon showed us when he placed his stick right where the pluck would ice down…"**

"**We must watch the review!"**

"**No, Casey, we must not just watch it. We must watch it over and over several times a day and show it our children! It's a classic! So, let's see it…"**

**--**

But Gadget didn't see the review of the goal, because right then the images and sounds from the Ice-Dome suddenly changed to white noise and then no less suddenly into the commercial break.

"Hey! Where? What's that?" Dale exclaimed, striking the TV controls with his stick. Chip looked at the screen in silence. Monterey Jack opened his mouth to burst out the wrathful tirade concerning negligent TV-men and froze in this pictorial posture.

Monty slowly turned to Gadget and asked in a voice belonging to someone else, "Gadget luv, was this in your dream, too?"

Gadget broke out in a cold sweat. She felt lightheaded and seized the corner of the wall to remain standing, then sluggishly raised her head and looked at the watch showing local time.

5:23 PM.

--

"…_as it was reported earlier, today, at 5:23 PM, Pacific Time, a Boeing 747 air liner, Northpacific Avia Flight 10031 Lima—Sea-City with intermediate landing in our city, departing from National Airport at 5:05 PM, crashed down on the Ice-Dome Sports Arena, where the Stanley Cup Final featuring Michigan Red Stars and San-Angeles Rangers was taking place…"_

--

"This is it…" Gadget had to make an effort to extrude these words.

"'It'?" Dale gulped. "What 'it'? That 'it'?! What did you see?! What?!"

Gadget didn't have to answer, though. The TV answered for her. Suddenly, right in the middle of a commercial, the painfully familiar special bulletin caption appeared on the screen, which in turn gave way to the studio view with the same news anchor at the table. He had a much fresher look, though, which wasn't surprising given that by the time Gadget turned the TV on 'yesterday' he had been sitting there for almost five hours without a break…

"**This is a special breaking news bulletin. Just a few minutes away, at 5.23 PM, Pacific Time, the terrible disaster took place. The Ice-Dome Sports Arena, where the Stanley Cup Final featuring Michigan Red Stars and San-Angeles Rangers was underway, was struck by an airliner. Right now we don't know exactly which plane it was and what was the cause of the crash. Our reporter Stan Blather is ready with the live commentary from the crash site. Stan, you are on the air!"**

The studio view was replaced by the signal from the TV company's helicopter, showing Stan Blather sitting at the open side doors holding a microphone and wearing yellow headphones which allowed him to hear and speak despite the thundering noise. Nothing but thick black smoke could be seen through the doorway behind him.

"**Thanks, Henry, Stan Blather here. I and my colleagues are right over Ice-Dome now, and it's simply terrible! As you can see, smoke and fire is everywhere. We'll try to hover right above the epicenter of destruction now. Lonnie, get us closer. Tim, get ready with your camera…"**

The camera started moving and the doorway grew closer. For a couple of seconds, nothing but smoke could be seen. Then the helicopter flew out on the more or less clear skies, cameraman adjusted lenses, and the staggered Rescue Rangers and all the country saw it. 'Yesterday', on that fearful night, Gadget had seen it all. Now everything was in full view.

An enormous funnel-shaped gap yawned in the southern part of the sports arena, with the fin of a giant aircraft protruding from it, decorated with the green-blue emblem of Northpacific airlines. A deep furrow ploughed by the 747's right wing traversed the broad square between the Ice-Dome and the nearby park. Apparently, the airliner was falling while banking right, because there was no furrow made by left wing. The machine's nose hit the building right where the stands ended and the dome began, which additionally aggravated the situation—had the nose hit just two stories lower the dome could have withstood the crash, being designed for the high seismic activity in the region.

But the blow hit the most vulnerable point of the building, and the dome didn't stood the test and partially collapsed. Almost in the middle of the square the gear post with its four gigantic wheels could be seen lying. The square in general was densely sown with debris of different sizes and origins, building fragments and aircraft wreckage. The first ambulances, fire trucks and police cars were arriving. Two helicopters belonging to other news agencies were hovering above the opposite side of the complex. Red-and-white medical helicopters darted by them…

The camera turned back to Blather.

"**This calamity defies description. Taking into account that today's match gathered a full audience, the scale of the tragedy is already shocking. Sectors five, six and seven of the arena are completely destroyed. We don't know how many people were on board this plane, but we can already assert that this is the greatest tragedy in the history of our city. Henry!"**

"**Thanks, Stan. So, for all those who joined us only now, I want to repeat, that today, at 5:23 PM…"**

"He said… sector six?" Dale asked in trembling voice. "But isn't it where…"

"Our seats, yes," Monty finished for him. "Gadget was right!. If we'd 'a been there, then…"

Dale sprang up and, jingling with his pads and stick, ran toward the inventor barely holding on her legs.

"Gadget! Gad…" he shouted, but then the hockey equipment elements became completely entangled and the chipmunk fell to the floor with a loud rumble, maybe two inches away from her legs. This sudden noise brought the mouse to her senses. She shook her head collecting herself and saw Dale crawling to her.

"Golly, Dale! Forget about that! Stand up, now!" She rushed to help Dale up, thinking that he was so overcome by emotions that decided to go and kiss her feet. She was not far off the mark, by the way, because Dale was indeed going to kneel down before Gadget the Prophet.

"I…you…" Dale prattled. "You…you saved us, Gadget! You…it's a wonder!"

Gadget looked at him and smiled sorrowfully, although there were more than enough reason to be happy. Her friends were alive. Chip stayed with them and seemed to have cheered up, even if he behaved somewhat strange at times. But the thought pulsating in her mind like a chisel hammer of how many other lives this terrible catastrophe took away was giving her no rest. She prevented the death of her friends, but she wasn't able to change everything. And this realization of her own feebleness really oppressed her.

Turned out she wasn't alone.

Chip standing rooted to the ground suddenly stirred to action. Having torn the scarf off his neck and thrown it on the sofa, he looked at his fellows standing still and, having pointed at the TV screen, enunciated in an abrupt, allowing no objections voice.

"We're headed there immediately!"

"But Chip," Monterey Jack parted his hands, "it's all too late to—"

"Prevent the crash? Yes, it is. If it hadn't been for Gadget, we would've been long dead already. But her dream saved us. Everything has its purpose, and this dream to my mind isn't an exception. It's a sign. We belong there! Not as victims, though, but as those who can truly help. Men will take care of injured men, but there's no one to take care of injured animals. No one but us!"

"You're right, Chippah!" Muscle mouse proclaimed. "I think everybody'll join me when I ask: what's our plan?"

_They are so great!_ Gadget beamed at her comrades. _Chip, as always, rose to the occasion. Didn't lose his head, didn't become limp, but made the one and only right decision. After all, as long as you know where you belong, that's what's important!_

"Yeah, Chip, what's our plan?" Dale asked doing the humorous salute.

"Let's see…Gadget!"

"Yes?" Gadget asked.

"We'll need plunger minilaunchers, helmets with headlights, all available ropes, arrows. Our gasmasks are still intact, I hope?"

"Oh, sure they are! I never throw anything away!" Gadget exclaimed. And how they had laughed watching her put tourist gas-masks in their backpacks. _We're goin' into the woods, to breathe fresh air! What are those gas-masks fo'?_ Monty asked at the time. _They'll sure come handy!_ she kept answering. And they surely did…

"Great! Alright then. Today we'll need all the horsepower available. Gadget, power the Wing up! Monty and Zipper, you…"

"The Wing doesn't work! Its engines are disassembled!" Gadget said.

Chip frowned but immediately came up with the idea.

"No problem! Monty! You and Zipper take the Ranger Plane! She hasn't flown for a long time, though. Can you handle it?"

"Hav' ya forgotten who you're talkin' with?" the Aussie sniffed, slightly offended.. "I'll make her fly better then ever!"

"I didn't doubt you for a second. Dale, you take the Rangermobile! I'll take the Gyrotank. Gadget! How much time do you need to fix the Wing?"

"Ten minutes, twenty at most…"

"Got it! Then you stay here fixing the Wing! Then take all the instruments and everything useful and find us on-site! Do your best to manage the repairs in half an hour! Time is of the essence! Okay, what are we waiting for? Rescue Rangers, away!"

Everybody started moving and the work was in full swing. Gadget rummaged through her workshop—their fishing equipment was long out of use but now of vital importance. With a will, she piled them together: helmets, gasmasks, plunger mini-launchers with arrows, grapnels, ropes and rope-ladders, a pair of finished pneumatic pistols, mountaineering gear and glass cutters.

Having received their gear, each Ranger ran to their appointed vehicle. Monty habitually jumped into the Plane and, having told her something, took off from the second attempt only. Dale made such a good start that his Rangermobile almost smashed the garage doors not completely opened yet, and tore at full speed along the parkways to the main gate. Chip's Gyrotank drove out next with a wild howling and headed in the same direction, but this time straight on, trampling the grass and knocking wilted bushes down with his ram.

_It __was__ already_, Gadget thought following them with her eyes. 'Yesterday' she saw them off to the hockey match in exactly the same manner. Today she saw them off too, but this time to the terrible disaster…

_Enough of that!_ she pulled herself up. _Nothing will happen to them. They know where they're going. They're technically equipped and mentally prepared. They know what to do. And I know too!_ Thinking all that, she ran headlong to the workshop. She must urgently fix the Wing's engines and assemble at least two more pneumatic pistols. And find everything which can prove to be of slightest use.

**8**

It took Gadget an hour to get to the crash site in the Ranger Wing and at first her friends were nowhere in sight. By now the square was overcrowded, with new men and vehicles keeping on arriving. The violent roar of the tempestuous flames were amplified with the din of engines of numerous fire engines, ambulances and various TV channels' and news agencies' helicopters. The mouse became confused at first but then spotted the Ranger Plane's crimson helium balloon at the very base of the dome over sector 9 and headed there.

"Monty! Monty!" she cried, trying to attract the attention of her old friend at the yoke. He didn't notice her, though, being totally engrossed in trying to skirt the wall to the complex as carefully as possible. Fortunately, Zipper spotted Gadget and pointed her out to the Australian who straight away flew up to Wing hovering nearby.

"Gadget, luv! Happy arrival! We've got tired'a waitin' for ya!" Monty said.

Gadget cupped her hands and shouted from the Wing, "Sorry, had to take a lot of trouble over all this! Where are the boys?"

"Directly below ya!" Monterey Jack reported pointing downwards. Gadget looked there and albeit with difficulty made out the Rangermobile appearing for brief moments in the scarce openings among men and machines.

"Okay, I see Dale. But where's Chip?"

"Inside, opening escape routes. Here he comes!"

Gadget saw the Gyrotank crushing through the ventilation grate, reduced to rubble, as a crowd of rodent hockey fans ran out of the freshly made breach.

"Great idea!" Gadget said. "This way we'll lead all of them out!"

"Not all." Monty pointed upwards at the big windows under the dome with silhouettes of trapped spectators whose seats happened to be on the upper tiers.

"GOLLY! What are we waiting for?!"

"You. My Plane isn't in good enough shape here."

"Point taken. Stick to the wall and start cutting the glass. I'll go down, unload and be right back!"

"Wait! Chip asked to tell ya to come to him as soon as you arrive!"

"There's no time, Monty…"

"Please, Gadgie. He said it's very important! Fly there to that big crane, where we encamped. I'll be right after ya, so don't brake without warnin'! Lead the way, lass!"

Gadget glanced at the rodents knocking at the windows once again but listened to Monty and directed the plane at the crane. Chip wasn't one to digress into fiddle-faddle at the height of a rescue mission, so if he wanted to see her then he'd have something truly important to say.

The Rescue Rangers field headquarters consisted of four tents pitched under the bottom of a gigantic four-axle hoisting crane, just like the one which nearly ran over Gadget 'yesterday'. Nothing and nobody could possibly run over them here, and with the machine fixed so tightly in place, even if workers took it into their heads to move it the Rangers would have plenty of time to strike their camp and transfer it to another safe place.

It was no wonder that their camp became a rallying point to the rodents evacuated from the nearest sectors of the Ice-Dome. Several routes led right there, laid under the fixed emergency vehicles and cranes, marked with lines of different colors drawn on their bottoms with the spray cans. In the camp, evacuees were divided into groups according to their injuries. Lucky animals who got off with no trauma or only some scratches and bruises went across the square along the 'green' corridor to the park—from there they went home or, if they wished, went to the hospital on their own.

The more seriously injured cases were being sent by 'yellow' corridor to the ambulance station, where they waited for an ambulance from Central City Hospital and got into the booths built by Small Central Hospital personnel in between the trunk bottom and cabin floor. The 'Red' corridor ran directly to the park limit where departing ambulances stopped for a while, waiting for the police line to be opened. It was Dale's task to drive the Rangermobile with critically injured patients along this corridor and there, while the medical car stood waiting, load all the injured on it. This method wasn't the safest, but it was the quickest way possible.

By the time Gadget arrived to check in with Chip he had reached sector 9 where the rescue teams had to work twice as carefully due to the threat of collapse. The intolerable heat turned the Gyrotank's steel hull into an oven. Its hair dryer engine also didn't quite cool the vehicle, and in comparison with Ice-Dome's scorching interior the air under the crane, rich with exhaust and engine oil fragrance, seemed Alpine fresh.

Chip tried to use short visits to the camp to thoroughly catch his breath prior to the next sortie. No wonder Gadget found him lying on the bedding in the middle of the camp as far from the cooling-down Gyrotank as possible, breathing deeply and evenly with his mouth wide open. There was a wet black towel, yellow-white not very long ago, lying there and the siphon with water pumped out from the nearby fire truck's reservoir standing next to him.

"Golly, Chip! How are you?" mouse exclaimed running up to him.

Chip spurted up to his feet and approached her. "At last! I've started to worry whether something had happened!"

"Come on, what could happen to me? Monty said you wanted me to—"

"Yes, that's right. Did the Wing do all right?"

"Certainly! Or else how could I have—"

"Good. Tools with you?"

"Well, yes, without them I never—"

"Excellent! Take your tools and everything you can make use of. Dale will be back soon, and he'll give you a lift to the ambulance heading to Small Central. Go there."

"But how then…" a confused Gadget asked, muddled by Chip's abrupt speech, who constantly and impatiently interrupted her.

"Trust me, they need you there. They don't have enough equipment yet and won't make it without your talent. Monty will take the Wing. We'll cope with it here, believe me."

"But…but who's gonna fly the Plane? You said we'd need all the horsepower—"

"Zipper."

"Zipper?!" Gadget's astonishment was beyond all bounds. "Flying the Ranger Plane? But he never—"

"Not a problem, luv!" Monty's voice rang out from behind as Australian joined them. "Old Zippah can do even more than that! I slackened the yoke a bit and he won't need to exert himself. I'll take the Wing, and you, dear, indeed should go to the hospital. There's one heck of a doomsday there already, and it'll only get worse!"

"Okay!" Gadget nodded. After all, she decided to go work in the hospital 'yesterday' anyway, so why should she change her mind today?

By the time Dale returned from the routine lap around the 'red' route Gadget had already finished unloading all the useful materials out of the Wing and cargo net, and Monty had flown away to proceed with his rescue mission. Having noticed the inventor, Dale added current to the fan and rolled right up to the neat heap of various instruments, details and devices.

Having cast a highly practiced glance at it, Dale scratched his ear and observed, "Erm, Gadget? I surely understand everything, but this isn't gonna fit into the ambulance, not to mention the Rangermobile!"

"Is it?" mouse instantly grew sad. "Well, I might have gotten carried away. But if used competently, this stuff can be turned into so many great things…"

"Hmm…if you say so, then I trust you. But I can't imagine the Rangermobile moving with all of this on board."

"Deliver it in parts!" Chip came up to them, remarking in a tone of a professor vexed with his students' puny standards of knowledge. "Everything can be easily transported in three to four runs!"

"Wow, right!" Dale smiled broadly. "Why didn't I think of it?"

"I would have been very surprised if…" Chip wanted to issue a sarcastic commentary but suddenly unknown to Gadget a chipmunk wearing a sweat-soaked blue uniform shirt of the arena's fire inspector ran up to them.

"Commander Chip! Commander Chip!" he cried, gasping for breath after running.

"What's the matter, Darren?" Chip asked.

"One…one of the trucks…under the 'yellow' corridor drove away. The nearest one's too far away. Everybody stopped…don't know where to go…"

"From bad to worse," Chip drawled thoughtfully. "And what kind of truck was that? Ambulance? Crane?"

"Fire truck, sir. Foam launcher."

"Ah, then everything's all right. That truck just used up all its foam load and went to the base for refueling. Another one will replace it soon. Tell everybody to remain in place. As soon as the truck comes, continue moving. Understood, Darren?"

"Thanks, Commander. Understood!" and the chipmunk ran away to relay chief's instructions.

"'Commander Chip'?" an amazed Gadget asked.

"It happened all by itself somehow." Chip shrugged but it was clear he wasn't completely against such a title. "Well, I have to go now. Will you handle the embarkation?"

"Certainly, Commander, sir!" a smiling Dale shouted and saluted with typical zeal.

"Oh, come on, Dale!" The Rescue Rangers leader waved him away. "I'm a commander only for them. Good luck!"

"And you, Chip!" Gadget wished. "Hold on here. You all hold on here!"

"Thanks, Gadget! See you later. What now?" the latter question was addressed to Darren who ran back to the camp again.

"Commander! There's that Vader again!"

At the mention of this name Gadget shook and almost dropped the device she was holding to the ground. Turns out Vader wasn't the product of her imagination and also existed in reality…

Chip grimaced. "What does he want this time?"

"He says we're interfering with the evacuation process…"

"Okay, I got it. Where is he now?"

"Near the truck I've already told you about."

"Tell him to come here. Crane 47-07, in front of sector 9. Go."

"But he said you should come to him!"

"Yeah, right. Abandon everything and go tongue wagging! He wants to see me, he comes and sees me! Pass it word for word, okay?"

"Sure, Commander!" Darren disappeared again.

_Chip is so brave! I hope he'll put this Vader in his place!_ Gadget felt a surge of pride for the dear chipmunk, then went on handing the most important things that needed to be delivered over to Dale. Having finished loading this consignment she looked in the direction of the camp again and saw Vader. He was exactly the same as in her 'vision': big and black with shocks of gray hair on a wrinkled muzzle.

The Rescue Dogs commander was angrily saying something to Chip standing in front of him, his arms spread out. Despite the huge difference in size between him and the Labrador, Chip remained absolutely unmoved. When Vader finished his tirade, the chipmunk, his countenance unchanged at all, spoke and pointed his hand now at the camp, now at the burning arena, now at Darren standing near them and trembling with fear of the formidable dog.

"Chip's holding out very well, don't you think?" Gadget asked Dale.

"Oh, nothing to write your home tree about." Dale answered, her words causing him to become jealous. She gave herself a scolding for making Dale suffer again and tried to repair the situation.

"Okay, Dale!" she said happily, taking a front seat. "Show me what progress you've made in driving!"

Dale instantly cheered up and jumped into the driver's seat in one long leap. "My progress is real good; you'll see it for yourself! I'll bring us there in no time!"

He valiantly flashed his eyebrows causing the mouse to blush and stepped on the pedal, giving the fan almost maximum voltage at once. The Rangermobile dashed forward and Gadget thought they were going to crash either into one of crane's bearings or its wheel, but Dale steered the wrench with sharp-cut movement for the angle exactly needed to slip between the wheel and the bearing.

Seeing him skillfully driving across the openings, Gadget remembered Luke. 'Yesterday' she thought it would take years to master the technique of traveling amongst the gathering of men and heavy vessels. But, as Dale's example showed, a couple of hours were enough. The chipmunk already had the route at his four finger-tips and was driving as if by train tracks. In a certain way it was indeed so, as wide red stripes flashed above them, which marked the 'red' corridor for the emergency drivers: long prime mover—turn—two fire trucks standing very close to one another—another turn—apply the brakes before the wide thoroughfare to let the excavator pass—three more trucks.

One more turn and there the mission objective is: the ambulance with the inscription reading 'Central City Hospital' on the double doors approaching the police line. The car hadn't stopped yet when Dale pulled up to the right side of it near the small hatch plainly unnoticeable at first sight.

"Hey, over there!" he shouted standing up and knocking at the car side. "Open up, I've got a passenger for you!"

The hatch sprang open and a totally exhausted male mouse nurse leaned out of it. "Who have you got there? Wow!" Having seen Gadget he immediately changed his countenance, became kinder and smiled. "Let me help you! What's wrong with you? Nothing serious, I hope!"

"I'm not a patient!" Gadget answered, climbing into a small compartment. In addition to her and the male nurse there were also five injured rodents and a doctor. "I am—"

"She's a master, her name's Gadget!" Dale shouted from below throwing the packs of tools and parts into the booth. "She's a genius!"

"Master Gadget?" nurse man asked again. "What a beautiful name! Please, take my seat. It's much cozier than the one near the doors."

"Thank you," Gadget answered, moving further into the compartment. She felt the car trembling and starting to gather speed. Dale threw the last remaining details in and, having shouted loudly "Good luck, Gadget!", swung the Rangermobile around and raced back to camp.

Gadget turned to the nurse man continuously staring at her and extended her paw. "Hi there, I'm Gadget. Oh, you know that already."

"Mitchell. You can call me Mitch," he answered, gently taking her palm with his and kissing it. The inventor blushed from head to foot.

"Please, Mitch, it's not worth all that…" she uttered in a suddenly muffled voice.

"As you wish, Master!" Mitchell smiled.

Gadget turned away trying to hide the disarray gripping her. _A pretty business this! His name is the same as the bomber I lived in. What can it mean?_ After that she forced herself to concentrate on the work at hand, and all the way to the hospital tried to look in front of her. But, sensing Mitchell's amorous stare directed at her, from time to time involuntarily lowered her eyes to the dorsal side of palm, still warm from his lips' touch.

**9**

Time seemed to have compressed. The minutes turned into seconds and the hours flew by. The work was in full swing, nonstop. But while people could be replaced by other people, there was no one to replace the Rescue Rangers. They didn't complain, for it would have been against their principles. The thought that they should have been there, among the ruins, gave them no rest and compelled them to go forth, for the amount of work to be done kept increasing.

The closer the fire machinery approached to the heart of the Ice Dome, the more terrible scenes opened up before the firemen's eyes, and the more fearful traumas and injuries the doctors had to deal with. This equally applied to the Rangers. The Rangermobile raced more frequently along the 'red' corridor; Chip's Gyrotank went deeper and deeper into the scorching interiors; closer and closer Monterey Jack and Zipper flew their respective aircrafts into the maw of the abyss breached by the fallen airliner. The power of the Wing's flashlight wasn't enough to successfully fight the thickening smoke and Zipper had to constantly keep the Plane in front of the Wing and blow the black shroud away with the fog disperser. It helped to see, but it didn't save from the heat and choking gases.

Chip was getting nervous and angry. Despite the vast crowds of saved rodents passing through the camp it seemed to him the operation was at a standstill. They had already reached the middle of the eighth and fourth sectors, but further ahead lay the dense blockage of ruined walls, ceiling and walls of fire. But even there some men and animals could have survived, and the firemen and the Rescue Rangers went on plunging into the blustery flames.

But if previously our little heroes acted on their own because they easily slipped into the places inaccessible to the humans, now their progress heavily depended on that of the firemen, and Chip didn't like it very much. But he couldn't do anything about it, for even Gadget's engineering genius wasn't able to build (quickly, at least) something more powerful and effective than the most up-do-date human fire and salvage machinery. This perception of your own helplessness and dependency on the factors he couldn't control was driving the leader of Rescue Rangers and, pluralistically, the commander of the animal salvage operation nuts. And if you add screams and moans of victims carried through the camp, constant strained expectation of the moment when they'll have to urgently move the camp, and regular wrangles with Labrador Retrievers' Commander Vader, then the picture of emotions overwhelming Chip will be complete. Almost.

"DARREN!" Chip yelled in a frenzied voice at his deputy, trembling all over like an aspen leaf in the whirlwind. "Are you there incapable of anything?! It's E-LE-MEN-TA-RY! Why would you gather the crowd of evacuees at the exit nearest to the camp?! Why would you drag them all over the smoked rooms? Is this the one and only exit?! No, there's PLEN-TY of them! Move them out through the exit nearest TO THEM, and then guide to the camp along the evacuation route! Don't gather them in large groups—it only increases the risk of being overrun by a truck! Organize at least something! Dismissed!"

"Y-yes, C-commander! C-consider it d-done, C-commander!"

Chip had no interest in his prattling anymore. Things had to move faster. In contrast, the Rangermobile pulled up like Dale was on a leisurely weekend cruise through the countryside.

Chip ran up to the Rangermobile. "Why so slow, Dale?! Don't you see all these injured over there?! They can't wait forever!"

"Stop yelling at me!" Dale answered with a snarl as his tired muscles only allowed him to creak out of the Rangermobile. He rinsed his hands and face with a cold water from the siphon. "I can't drive any faster! It's total disorder out there! Everybody's gone mad! Bulldozers are scudding along with a speed of greyhounds!"

"Nonsense! They've always moved like this. You've just started driving slower!"

Dale looked right into Chip's eyes. "I'm tired, Chip. I've made a hundred of laps already! I fell asleep at two if not at three it the morning! I—"

"Shouldn't have read all those foolish comic books! It's all because of them! Start the Rangermobile, now! Three new passengers are waiting for you!"

"Alright, Commander, sir, will do…" Dale retorted, pronouncing the word 'Commander' without any sign of his usual humor. Chip nodded, turned around on his heel and headed to the headquarters tent. This time he took Dale calling him 'commander' as a matter of course.

In the camp Monterey Jack and Zipper, back from a routine rescue flight, were taking a siphon-shower. The Ranger Wing and Ranger Plane, both totally black with soot, stood nearby. The Plane's helium balloon had burst, her plastic hull scorched here and there when Zipper had flown too close to the open fire. Fortunately, the little brave pilot weighed very little and the Plane stayed in the air.

"Monty, Zipper! Report your status!" chipmunk demanded.

"Last ten flown out," Monty reported cheerfully, snorting with pleasure under the shower's stream. "Next to last tier off of sector eight completely evacuated. No losses, not countin' that there helium balloon."

"That's not good enough, Monterey! According to my timeline we should've fully finished the eighth sector half an hour ago! You must speed up!"

"Sorry, Chippah, you 'av' to fly very careful to not burn the net by chance!"

Chip's words and tone hurt Monty despite his having been talked to even worse in his life. And though the Australian understood the cause of his friend's current mood and could fully assume that being in his non-existent shoes could have behaved the same if not worse, it was truly unpleasant to hear all this from an old friend.

"Point taken," Chip said. "But the last tier of sector eight must be fully evacuated by 10:30 PM!"

"Alright, alright…" Monty turned to Zipper washing himself with water drops. "Will we do it, Zipper?"

Zipper squeaked the request up, shook himself off and flew to the Plane. Having made certain that they were alone, Monty put his paw on Chip's shoulder and looked at him strictly.

"Listenna me, Chip," Monty started, "I certainly understand everythin'. It's a force-majeure, terrible disaster happened, lotsa victims. But it seems to me you're going too far, lad! You shouldn't be like this! It doesn't suit ya, ya know?"

"Maybe you're right, Monterey. Sorry if offended somehow. I get too brash sometimes. We are facing this for the first time, after all." Chip delivered words of apology with almost the same inflexion with which at 3 AM you utter something in the lines of 'you dialed a wrong number!' in the receiver of the telephone, which yanked you out of Morpheus's realm.

"Sure, Chippah!" Monty raised his paws as a sign of reconciliation. "Don't mind, I'm not offended. It's lot easier fo' me. I was in Beirut, you weren't."

"You've never told about that. What was in Beirut?" Chip's voice lacked even the faintest note of curiosity.

"No good, I must say…well, never mind…" Monterey waved off and went to the faithful Wing. Chip just shrugged his shoulders and headed to the Gyrotank, which had almost become his alter ego. But then Darren and two other chipmunks-volunteers approached, carrying a stretcher with someone heavily burnt.

"Commander… Commander…" the breathless fire inspector barely moved his tongue.

"Who is it? What's with him? How did it happen?" Chip asked all the questions at once.

"This is Morgan, from tenth sector's brigade. Heavy burns, quite possibly fractures. He fell from the beam and into the fire," Darren properly reported and then added for himself, "He's dying…"

"I can see, I'm not blind!" Chip broke. "He's 'red', so get him to the Rangermobile immediately!"

He turned away and resumed his walk but Darren seized him by the sleeve.

"Commander!" Darren insisted.

"What else?!" Chip spat, infuriated with such an outrageous seniority violation.

"Problem, sir! Loaded ambulances from CCH are gone, and we don't know when freshly arrived ones will move out! That's why we applied—"

_Darn! We're missing just a few for a full complement!_ Chip cried aloud, "What are you standing for?! Stay close!" He ran to Dale, ready to drive off. Darren and his companions silently obeyed and followed him.

"DALE!!" Chip clamored. "STOP RIGHT THERE!!"

His friend dutifully stopped the fan, got down and asked, his voice flat as the Ancient Greeks' Earth.

"What now, Chip, sir?"

"We've got a problem. No appropriate ambulances. This badly injured man must be taken to the hospital now. You go right there. You know the way. Any questions?"

"No questions!" Dale expressed loudly and clicked his heels. Chip's dictatorial manners had already started to drive Dale wild, but he just had neither wish nor strength left to argue with his friend.

"Alright. When you convey him, get back fast, got it? Like the wind! Load him!"

Chip waved his paw at the vehicle and Darren's subordinates laid the stretcher between two rows of seats, under the legs of two injured rodents sitting there already. The third wounded animal was sitting near the driver. Dale got behind the wrench again, told his passengers to hold onto themselves and the stretcher and darted off. He had to drive along the wearisome 'red' corridor one more time, past the police line and through the park, out on 101st Avenue, and then, by one of the back streets, get to Portero Avenue which would lead them to their intended destination. Piece of acorn cake, an easy walk for a chipmunk who had the hang of driving at full speed through the square crawling with people and their machinery…

**10**

"Excuse me, Master Gadget…"

"What's that, Millie?" Gadget asked, intently unscrewing the bolts from an old human cardiograph.

"A visitor wants to see you. He says you know him."

Gadget thought for a moment but quickly remembered 'yesterday' and realized who it was. She put the screwdriver aside, pushed her goggles back and swiveled around to the door. Yes, it was exactly him.

"Sparky!" the inventor exclaimed, running up to her old acquaintance. The bandaged rodent scientist sat in one of the wheelchairs she had hurriedly assembled from improvised parts. The pace had been hectic for Gadget, too. Even such vital devices as defibrillator or artificial respiration system had to be put into service in their current state and finished off literally at the patient's bed. Despite all she'd brought from HQ, it turned out being very little in comparison to their real needs. Fortunately, the hospital workers showed her the way to a storeroom full of surplus human equipment, where she found if not everything then quite a lot of necessary materials with ease.

"I'll leave you alone," the nurse smiled and closed the door behind her. Gadget drew her chair up to Sparky's and sat alongside him.

"How are you, Sparky?" Gadget asked.

Sparky gave her a tired smile. "Ah, nothing, thanks. If only you knew how glad I am to see you! You look great. Haven't changed at all. Not counting the oil, obviously."

"Oh, Sparky, please…" Gadget colored slightly and began rubbing her face and hands with a rag.

"And where are the other Rescue Rangers?" the scientist inquired.

"Working in the Ice-Dome, sent me here. Chip decided here I would be of more help."

"Well, although I don't like him too much...for a variety of reasons," Sparky gave Gadget a significant wink, "I must admit he was right. Your devices are wonderful. You know, when I first saw all those electrocars poking about the corridors I thought Harold Bucksup surpassed even himself in a quest for the newest machinery possible. But then I was told they were the creations of one 'really ingenious mouse' and I understood everything at one stroke. Asked the nurse to take me to you, and here I am. You know, 'Master Gadget' sounds truly amazing!"

"Thanks, Sparky."

They sat in silence for a minute, looking at each other, then Sparky cleared his throat. "Gadget, I fully understand that it isn't a very good time for this, but if the fates decreed us to meet again, I consider myself indebted to ask. Have you ever thought of pursuing the scientific career?"

Gadget shot a wonder-struck glance at him. "Basically, no, not really. I'm a Rescue Ranger, after all, and—"

"I know, I know!" The rat scientist fanned his hands as best as he was able to. "But, you see, such a talent mustn't be wasted—that is, I mean, to stop halfway! You are a great engineer, you know so much!" He talked faster and faster, with more and more ardor, literally shooting the words out. "Give or take any field! Engineering, aviary science! You could easily get a PhD! And not just a single one! You could become a professor!"

"Even so…" the startled mouse spoke, barely above a whisper at first, then regained her voice. "You really think so? Isn't it—"

"I wouldn't dare to joke with such a thing, Gadget! I can arrange everything! The brand new lab is opening at MIT! One word from you and that's all."

Sparky fell eloquently silent providing Gadget with an opportunity to assess all the opportunities opening before her. This offer was very attractive, to say the least.

Just too attractive to decline.

"You know, Sparky," she uttered at last, "this is so unexpected. I must think about it."

"Certainly, certainly!" the scientist nodded in approval. "I fully comprehend! There's no rush at all, especially with all this calamity around! But I want to ask you: when everything settles down, please, find me and tell about your decision. I won't be discharged from here for a while, so you'll know where to find me. Okay then, good luck! Don't want to distract you for too long; you've got plenty of work to do. Sorry for being so little help at the moment."

He began rotating the wheels with his bandaged hands, pivoting the wheelchair to face the door.

"Let me help you!" Gadget offered getting up.

"Please, you shouldn't bother. But, if you don't mind…"

Gadget pushed Sparky's wheelchair to the door and knocked. Millie appeared almost immediately and Sparky, after he saluted the inventor farewell, was promptly driven away. Gadget stood there, looking at the closed door and trying to deal with the enveloping unrest. And some kind of other-worldly voice seemed to whisper right in her ear: "MIT, science, the cutting edge of the progress…"

Can it be really possible?!

But what about the Rescue Rangers? With her friends? She can't leave them!

"PhD, chair, professorship, progeny, own school of thought…" the voice went on and on, and Gadget in a day-dream saw herself standing at the rostrum wearing a black gown and mortar board. He saw herself writing diagrams and formulae on the blackboard. Numerous mice, rats, squirrels and other rodents sat in the vast auditorium and hung on every word of her lecture, trying not to miss a single word of wisdom.

Gadget shook her head to dismiss the obtrusive voices and reflections. _There's no time! Get back to work!_

**11**

"Careful! Don't crowd! One by one! Everybody'll go in! Nobody'll be left behind!" Monterey Jack reprimanded the last evacuees. Worn out by the several hours' long waiting, rodents gathered at the very edge of the steep incline formed after the ceiling collapsed. They were frantically reaching out for the cargo net suspended under the bottom of the Wing. Rising blasts of burning air strived to carry the net aside all the time and Monty had to constantly maneuver in order to hold it as close to the precipice as possible.

Picking up the first two or three passengers was the hardest, because it made the net heavier and much more stable. But to make it happen one had to show the wonders of aerial acrobatics. Zipper was blowing the net to the edge with his fog disperser, though here, at the very mouth of the fiery crater, air swirls were much stronger than the elegant but still primitive mechanism, not designed for this workload. It was still much better than nothing, and Zipper worked on the pedals of the bellows with all his will.

"Right! Right! In turn order! Watchit! Good! Good…! Everybody there?" Monty asked.

"Yes!" the rescued answered all together.

"Anyone staying there?"

"No!"

"Gotcha! Hold on! We're takin' off!"

Monty shouted, lifting the Wing above the roof. He knew he had to be very careful and fly slowly on his way back to camp in order not to, God forbid, catch on some armature bars protruding here and there. Time and again he switched the Wing into its hovering mode and back, constantly adjusting the blades' speed and using the available controls to the fullest, taking the additional flaps in and out.

In spite of having flown many hours along this route, each individual flight differed from the previous altogether. Work conditions were constantly changing. Somewhere firemen managed to extinguish a small portion of the fire and it was no longer as hot as before. But now on the new frontier between the cold and hot regions, new whirlwinds formed. The humidity was above average due to the water cannon squirting nearby. Somewhere nearby the ceiling collapsed, and the clear sky patch gave way to the thick smoke rising into the air. There were so many factors to take into account.

Slowly putting the net down on the ground near crane 47-07, Monty landed the Wing next to it and turned off the motors already droning with well perceptible strain. Taking the hateful gasmask off, he breathed in the cool night air and, with words of gratitude for a safe return, kissed the biggest of the amulets hanging from his neck. Only now Monterey Jack jumped out of the cockpit and went to survey the Plane. There was no visible damage. The Plane looked like brand new except for the thick layer of dust and soot and the slightly melted landing gear.

_Batteries need to be changed_, Monty noted to himself. Today he had flown more than in an average month, and didn't want to find himself out of engine power at the wrong time. And on a day like today a breakdown was likely to happen at the worst possible moment.

"Excuse me, please, I don't know your name…"

This bolt from the blue almost caused the Australian to bump his head against the Wing. Scooting from under the plane, he saw one of the saved rodents in front of him, an elderly male mouse wearing austere dark clothes. Based on how he was behaving during the evacuation — caught the net, helped others in it and was the last to climb in — it was apparent that he was the leader of this group. His hair, which was starting to turn grey, was disheveled and sparkling with sweat. His collar, once white and now darkened with soot, indicated that Monty was talking to a priest. From time to time he rubbed his pince-nez glasses with a handkerchief, whose whiteness was saved by keeping it deeply in the pocket, and a firm and precise look of his eyes made it clear that the trial of fire and smoke hadn't broke his spirit at all. Quite probably, he hadn't spent all his life in the frock.

"Monterey Jack, padre. Or better just Monty," Rescue Ranger answered, shaking the priest's extended hand. The old mouse's paw turned out surprisingly strong, and Monty, accustomed to his handshake causing others to wince, had to wince himself this time.

"Reverend Scott," the priest said. "On behalf of all the rescued, I want to heartily thank you. We'd made such a long way to the roof of the building that it would have been plainly terrible to perish just a few steps away from safety. But the Lord showed his mercy and sent you to us. I couldn't even imagine we'd be picked up by plane."

"Thanks, Reverend, you're right welcome. But that's really nothin' at all, it's our job," the flattered Monty answered. "Now that you mention it, did you met anyone else on your way to the roof?"

The priest sighed deeply. "To our great regret, we lost much more than found."

"Pity to hear that." Monty saddened.

"It is indeed so, son, but mysterious are the ways of the Lord. God bless you and thanks again."

"Not at all, Reverend. You should go to the camp, you'll get all the help you need there."

Once Reverend Scott left, Monty surveyed the Plane more then went to the tents for the next siphon-therapy session. The tight cold squirt, pleasantly contrasting with the heated air over Ice-Dome, was just what doctor ordered. Monty stood under the water without undressing and, puffing with pleasure, began washing off of his body and clothes everything related to the fire. He was still reveling in the water when Chip caught him.

"You've returned, I see. Report in." Chip said.

Monty kept to his task. "Sector eight completely evacuated, Chipper. No losses or damage."

"Sector four?"

"Nobody. I flew two times over it."

"Well done. Your next order is to fly to sector seven and—"

"Just a minute!!" Monty roared. He turned the water off and, stepping right up to Chip, folded his arms in front of him and glared down at the chipmunk. "Listen to me, Chip! We've known each other for a very long time! I know there's great responsibility over ya now, but that's beyond any limits! We're yer friends, no worries about that! But you're treatin' us like some silly puppets! And I don't like it very much!"

"Finished?" Chip asked. His voice was calm, and not a single muscle moved on his face during Monty's speech.

"Me?! No, I'm not finished yet! And when I am…!" Monty almost jabbed his fist with flying helmet clenched in it into Chip's face.

"Then you'll report it!" Chip snarled. The chipmunk and muscle mouse silently gazed at each other for some time, and then Chip suddenly grabbed Monty's hand.

Chip spoke again, closer to his normal voice, "Forgive me, Monty. I don't know how it happens. It just turns out like this. I ask you as a friend, one final flight. Then we'll take a break and let the firemen do their job. Will you do it?"

"Well, alright then," Monterey nodded with a sigh. Having wrung his helmet out until it was dry, he put it on and paced to the planes on the edge of the camp, inwardly scolding Chip for saying the word 'final'. No matter, still. His protective amulets and incantations wouldn't let him down…

"Zipper, fellow!" he called, approaching the Ranger Plane. The fly resting on her wing roused and flew up to his old friend, feebly moving his wings.

"Tired, huh? I know, I know. Well, let's make a couple laps more and finish for the day."

Zipper squeaked something very weakly.

"What? Ah, yes. Yes," Monty sighed, "I've got the case of hunger storms myself. But for those who are still there," he alluded at the ruined sectors, "it's all much worse. Let's go! Remember? Rescue Rangers…"

"…away!" cheered up Zipper finished the motto for him and they dashed to their vessels.

The heat seemed to abate slightly. Monterey Jack didn't know whether the actions of the firemen or the shower's effects were the reason for it, but he definitely enjoyed it. Crooning 'Waltzing Matilda' to himself, he drove the Wing through clouds of smoke to the very edge of sector 8, where the building abruptly ended and the roaring inferno began.

As usual, Monty kissed all his amulets in turn, changed flying goggles for gasmask and flew right into the smoke. He planned to fly over the fin of the fallen aircraft, reach the middle of the fourth sector, then turn around and return to base along the same route. There was no sense to travel further, for sector 3 had been searched length and breadth and there was no one to rescue anymore.

Despite the efforts of Zipper's fog disperser, the airliner's fin appeared through the smoke just as suddenly as the iceberg in front of the Titanic. Monty saw it at the literally the next to last moment and, pulling the yoke to himself and switching the engines to full power, made the Wing hum resentfully and vault over the obstacle. Zipper decided to fly around the aluminum mass and lagged behind, but the Australian didn't wait for him. He took his tenth handkerchief today out of his pocket, rubbed his sweating forehead under the gas-mask and flew on. The faster the job's done, the faster they will be back the camp.

The Ranger Wing jolted and Monty heard something heavy falling to the cockpit floor with a muffled tap. He looked down and was terrified to find that the biggest and the most important of his amulets had broke from its chain and rolled away under the co-pilot's pedals.

"No! Not this! It's an ill omen!" Monty cried in despair. He spat over his shoulders, switched the Wing into helicopter mode and searched for the amulet. His fingertips almost touched it, but it was a mouse's half inch too far — the safety belt interfered. Monty thought for a moment, then unfastened it. For two seconds, no more. _I'll only get the amulet and…_

An unknown force struck the tail of the Wing, flipping it upwards and to the right. Monty was almost thrown out from the cockpit, but he gripped the yoke with all his might and stayed on board. At first he thought something had exploded, but then found himself flying amidst the water splashes. He'd hit the water cannon's squirt—or, rather, the squirt hit him.

The blow was so powerful the plane flew up almost ten feet. Monty tried to bring the Wing back on the previous course but she didn't obey. A direct water hit ripped the cables between the batteries and engines, which stopped immediately. The Wing began spinning slowly, but she'd been thrown so high up into the air by the water cannon that she overshot the Boeing-made breach and reached the fourth sector. Monty tried to stabilize the vessel with the help of additional flaps, but the automatic extension system wasn't functioning without power and the levers on the wings were way too far for him to reach.

"I knew it, I knew it," he mumbled, watching the sports arena ruins rapidly approaching. "It's a very unlucky day!"

Having descended through the black smoke cloud, Zipper was paralyzed with fright by the horrible scene. He watched as the Wing, Monterey Jack seizing the dashboard in a death grip, completely vanished into the depths of fire-spanned arena. Immediately the fly swung the Plane around and darted to the camp with all the speed the winged veteran was capable of.


	3. Part 2 Today act II

**12**

Dale drove through the first part of the too-familiar 'red' corridor in record time, but then complexities started to arise. He scurried under the police barrier and between two adjacent patrol cars then entered the park where the human field hospital and evacuation camp were established. Tents, ambulance cars, doctors and volunteers dotted the landscape, everyone scurrying here and there.

It was dark already and bright floodlights illuminated the camp. Dale tried to drive around the illuminated and busy regions wherever possible, using the headlight on his helmet to light the road. Dale knew he was carrying a dying passenger and pedaled with all his might, squeezing all the power he could out of his vehicle.

Dale taxied out on 110th Avenue, working to keep the Rangermobile as close to the sidewalk as possible in order not to be hit by ambulances tearing past from time to time. He pressed the voltage pedal flat and the fan hummed so fiercely it seemed as if it would burn out or tear off and fly away.

"How is Morgan?" Dale shouted to one of his passengers in back while keeping his eyes on the road.

"Very bad!" one of them answered. As if in support of his words, Morgan had a fit of strained coughing. His breathing was heavy and rapid. It was clear he wouldn't last long.

"Tell him to hold on! We'll be there in a moment!"

Despite his confident tone, there was a gnawing in Dale's heart. All side streets they were driving past were tightly clogged with cars, and the closer to the center they came, the tighter that 'tight' was becoming. And every minute was worth its weight in gold.

"You won't pass here…" the hamster sitting next to Dale observed ruefully. His back was burnt heavily and he was doing his utmost not to touch the back of his seat. He wasn't always successful, and his face became distorted with pain again and again.

"I see it." Dale gave a short answer desperately looking for the way out. He has never been in a situation when someone's life depended so directly on his decision. While in Bottlebottom his actions allowed the team to hinder a Spy's sinister scheme and save thousands of people, it wasn't felt as much as right now, when the life of someone right here was at stake.

"I know!" Dale suddenly proclaimed. "I remember the shortest path! Hold on!"

Having said that, he turned the steering wrench to the left, right up to the stop. The Rangermobile swerved tightly, barely missed a collision with a fire truck appearing out of nowhere, and darted to a dark alleyway between the two office buildings on the other side of the avenue. It was 2nd Rat Alley, and led right to the crossing of Portero Avenue and 24th Street, from where it was a stone's throw to the Central City Hospital. Dale knew this locality, because it was where Fat Cat had a meeting with the ringleader of the sewer rats' gang, who help him with a scheme of underground passages into the Federal Reserve Bank. It was one of the toughest operations conducted by Rescue Rangers, because after many years of confrontation with them Fat Cat learned to be extremely cautious. But despite all his countermeasures the team managed to uncover his plot, and the end result was definitely worth the…

"WALL!" the hamster shouted as he seized Dale by his shirt sleeve. Dale hit the brakes and turned the fan off, but the Rangermobile went another fifty or so feet before coming to a halt almost right against the wall.

_THE WALL?!_

Open-mouthed with astonishment, Dale looked at a gray concrete two story high wall blocking the path. It couldn't exist. It mustn't exist! He definitely remembered this wall hadn't been here. No wall at all had been here. Neither wall, nor fence, nor garbage heap.

"You see it too?" he hoarsely asked his passengers. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me it's a mirage…"

"No, sir," hamster answered, "it isn't a mirage."

"Hold on then!" Dale shouted, coming to himself. Switching the fan blades into reverse, he turned the Rangermobile around and sped back to 101st Avenue. This passageway isn't the only one, after all. There must be another.

**13**

The flow of evacuees from the arena started to subside. All sectors, more or less spared by the aircraft crash, had been explored. Three last sectors were deemed inaccessible till morning at the very least. It was a good opportunity to have some rest, but Chip couldn't keep still. He was overflowed with emotions. It was their first real full-scale search and rescue mission, in comparison to which all their previous cases were like child's play.

He tried to not overlook anything, control and fathom into every single aspect. And now, when there wasn't much work to do in the base camp he decided to go to the second camp, set up on the opposite side of the square, near sector 3. After he rinsed the exertion from his face under the siphon, Chip climbed into the Gyrotank hand over fist and started the dryer. He actively disliked the new sound of rhythmic pattering, a distinct low hum. _Must be clogged with something. Maybe I should drive the machine to the hospital for Gadget to examine it._

Suddenly the Ranger Plane landed right in front of the Gyrotank and Chip pressed the brakes to avoid flattening her. _Zipper's gone completely nuts!_ Chip cursed to himself as he opened the hatch. Zipper came flying to him, buzzing louder then usual.

"What the heck are you—" Chip began with anger, but noticing Zipper looking awfully frightened, switched to a more practical tone.

"What happened, Zipper?"

Zipper began to jabber, accompanying his speech with wild gesticulation.

"What-what? Slower, please, I don't get it… Monty what? Amulet fell? Monty fell? Where?! How long ago?! Darn, that's bad! Sector 4? You sure?! Acknowledged. Get inside, quickly! Darren!"

"Yes, Commander?" Darren asked, thankfully nearby.

"You are the senior till I return!"

Having said that, Chip closed the hatch and darted to Sector 4. He didn't want to do what he was going to do now, but there was no time for sentiment.

"Where's Commander Vader?" he asked a red Labrador Retriever, wearing a red and white uniform jacket and gas mask dangling off his neck and connected to a silver oxygen cylinder on his back. The dog, sitting near the back doors of large red-and-white van, looked unwaveringly at the group of smoking human rescuers standing not far from the van. A long pause later he turned his head and Chip saw tears in his big brown eyes.

"He's there," the rescuer pointed in the direction of Ice-Dome, "but he should be back soon."

"It's an emergency!" Chip began but was interrupted by another dog, this time a straw-colored Labrador, coming up to them.

"What's the news, Chewy?" he asked approaching his fellow.

"Luke," Chewy said quietly and dropped his head, "Oby died. In sector three."

"How?!" startled Luke asked, shaken.

"The ceiling collapsed. Frank rushed to dig him out but then everything around started coming down and he himself was barely dragged out. All of us almost got killed there."

The dog gestured to the group of people and only now did Chip notice an old man in an undone red-and-white jacket sitting on the emergency vehicle's footboard a short distance from the smokers. He continuously stared at the leash he was holding, and the other rescuers time and again glanced at him and immediately, as if apologizing for the intrusion, averted their eyes.

"I'm sorry," Chip said, "but I must talk to Commander Vader immediately. Where can I found him?"

Chewy started to answer. "He's probably in—wait a minute. Oh, there he and Bronson are!"

Chip looked where Chewy pointed and saw Vader slowly walking alongside his owner, the chief of the rescue unit. Bronson patted his four-legged partner on the back and went towards Frank, while Vader headed to his subordinates. Having stepped up to them he wearily sat down and pulled his gas mask away.

"Don't limp, guys," the old dog began right off the bat. His voice was still hoarse, shrill and gruff. "Oby won't return, but that's better than of age or sores. What the heck does he want?" he asked Luke, pointing at Chip, as if having noticed him only now.

"The plane carrying my friend fell down into sector four," Chip answered for the dog. "I need your help."

"I see the day turned out rich with air crashes, no?" Vader gave a short mocking laugh and unpleasantly squinted. "Just look at how we're talking! When everything's all right, we're very proud! But then we have a problem and come crying for help! Interesting, don't you—"

"Down to business!" Chip broke him off. "Will you help me?"

"Listen, what's-the-heck-your-name-is…"

"You may call me Commander Chip. And don't forget 'sir'."

Vader's assumed indifferent look instantly changed into the bared teeth.

"WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" the Black Lab hissed, bending forward to Chip and almost touching chipmunk's face with his fangs. Luke and Chewy involuntarily shrank back. Vader seldom showed his teeth, but when he did it meant the line was crossed and either humiliating excuses or a fight to the death would follow. Even dogs larger than Vader from other units cringed at the sight of his bared fangs. But not Chip. Not today's Chip. The chipmunk stepped forward and, having jabbed his nose into Vader's, looked right into his eyes.

"I said what I said. Will you help me or not?"

The dog was taken aback, but didn't let on that. This chipmunk wasn't afraid of him at all. It was neither bravado nor bluff — Vader has lived long enough to learn to accurately recognize both. In the eyes of this chipmunk he saw everything — fury, determination to go to the last degree, concern over a friend's fate. But fear there wasn't. He wasn't afraid of him. Absolutely. And Vader felt what he had always thought was impossible to feel for someone smaller than himself.

Respect.

"I don't have any dogs to spare!" Vader spoke through set teeth.

"Then I'll go there alone!"

"You are welcome! But the whole half of the second tier collapsed. Same in the adjacent sector. You won't get there straight on, even in this chafing-dish of yours! And if you get there somehow, you won't see anything because of the smoke! And there is NOTHING to breathe, understood?!"

"Then find me an oxygen cylinder and a flashlight—"

"You think I'm some kind of lost-property office?"

"And a building map, please!"

The Rescue Dogs Commander stumbled and pretended to have a dry cough fit to cover his confusion. He was definitely starting to like this chipmunk. Just the way you like your mirror image. _This chap will make a real professional. If he doesn't get his neck wrung first…_

"LUKE!" he roared. Straw-colored Labrador shook and came closer.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Give this…Chip everything he'll ask for. Understood?"

"Understood, Commander."

"Chewy! Be at the sector two entrance in five minutes! Luke! When you are finished here, head there without a backward glance! We've sat here too long, I see, time to work! Don't be late!"

Vader dashed up and headed to his human partner sitting next to a mourning Frank. Chewy sniffed, glanced at the chipmunk with undisguised esteem and went after the commander.

"All right, then," Chip told Luke, standing still in expectation. "Here's what I need…"

**14**

The next narrow passage Dale found between the buildings also appeared to be blocked by the wall, but this time it could be seen from far away and Dale didn't have to waste precious time exploring it.

At last, here it is! Long narrow passage, in the opposite end of which the shining streetlights of Portero Avenue could be seen.

"Tell Morgan we'll be there soon! Minute or two at most!" Dale shouted, turning left. The Rangermobile skidded, but today Dale had passed even harder turns and everything turned all right, not counting some moss torn off by blades from the corner of the building. Buzzing loudly, the vessel scudded along the bumpy asphalt slaloming between the trash containers standing along the walls.

They taxied on Portero Avenue one block further then Dale initially planned, but it was of no concern now. Holding right behind an ambulance just passing by, Dale slipped through the hospital gates. Then Dale drove to the underground garage where the Small Central Hospital drive-in was situated, hidden behind a ventilation grate. Now the grate was fixed in the open position, because the flow of patients coming through it didn't run low even for a second.

Electrocars carrying patients delivered by ambulances were plying between the medical cars' bay and the entrance. _Definitely Gadget's work_, Dale thought. The image of the most beautiful mouse in the world appeared before his inner sight, and all the problems accumulated through the day, weariness and the grudge at Chip waned instantly. So much that Dale nearly collided with one of these electrocars, but fortunately his passengers displayed vigilance, screamed in terror and brought him back to reality.

"Here we are!" Dale proclaimed stopping at the open grate. A doctor and two orderlies with a stretcher by the gates immediately ran up to the Rangermobile and helped the injured animals down.

"Thank you!" The hamster with burns shook Dale's hand. "If it weren't for you, we'd still be waiting for an ambulance."

"Nevermind!" Dale answered. Then he turned back and told Morgan lying between the seats, "Everything will be alright! They'll help you here!"

The doctor, right at that moment finishing his examination of all the cases, covered Morgan's face with a sheet. "He's dead. Take him straight to the morgue."

Dale didn't grasp the meaning of these words at first. "I'm sorry, doctor. Why to the morgue?"

"What do you mean 'why'? He died."

"How is that?! It can't be! He was alive when I—"

"I'm sorry, but his injuries were too great. Take him away."

"NO!" Dale jumped off his seat and ran to the doctor. "CURE HIM! HE CAN STILL BE SAVED! YOU HAVE TO SAVE HIM! YOU—"

"Young chipmunk! Calm down! I know what you're feeling, but unfortunately medicine is powerless here."

"NO! IT'S NOT RIGHT!" Dale dashed to the orderlies and started snatching the stretcher out of their paws. "LET IT GO! I'LL CARRY HIM MYSELF! WE NEED TO TAKE HIM TO THE OPERATING-ROOM! IMMEDIATELY!"

One of the orderlies released the stretcher and subdued Dale in one movement then made him sit on the Rangermobile's step. The Rescue Ranger tried to break free but this orderly was just as strong as Monterey Jack, so his efforts turned out unsuccessful. Eventually Dale got exhausted and gave up. Seeing this, the doctor told orderly to let Dale go and sat next to him.

"Forgive me. I'm very sorry, but we can't help your friend. My condolences," the doctor said.

"He wasn't my friend…" Dale sobbed.

"Well…then your behavior does you credit. If it consoles you a bit, think about those three you delivered. Unfortunately, we can't save everybody. Excuse me, I have to go."

The doctor squeezed the crestfallen chipmunk's shoulder and left. Dale sat still on the step, staring at some invisible dot on the concrete floor when he felt someone else's hand on his shoulder. Thinking the doctor came back, he quietly asked.

"Leave me alone, Doctor."

"No, Mister Dale, it's not doctor. I'm John. You brought me here."

Dale lifted his eyes brimming with tears and saw one of his former passengers standing in front of him, supported by orderly.

"What do you want?"

John smiled at him. "First, I wanted to thank you for your help. You did so much for all of us."

The Rescue Ranger tacitly nodded.

"And I also wanted to say, it's not your fault that Morgan died."

"No, it's mine!" Dale exclaimed. "I drove the wrong way! I—"

"I'm sorry, but…you know, he stopped breathing there, at the wall. We didn't want to tell you. He died then. It's not your fault. You did everything possible. Sorry, friend."

John left, leaning on accompanying orderly's hand. Dale followed them with his eyes, then dipped his head and covered his face with Hawaiian shirt and began to cry.

"Hey!" somebody called him. "Move your piece of junk out of the way! I need to drive through!"

Dale stood up silently and sat behind the wrench. His eyes were covered with tears and he almost blindly drove the Rangermobile to one of the pillars towering some distance away from the hospital entrance. Stopping the fan, he placed his arms on the wrench and buried his face in them. He was still hearing the constrained coughing of Morgan in his tortured thoughts. And Dale knew he'd be hearing those coughs for a very long time.

"I didn't…" he murmured through tears. "I failed him…it's all because of me…my fault. I didn't save him! I'm not a Rescue Ranger any more."

**15**

His work done, Chip rubbed the sweat from his forehead and took a captious look at the resulting construct. The construct consisted of the Gyrotank, a rescue dogs' oxygen cylinder and a powerful fire flashlight placed on the roof of the vehicle to the left and right of the sloping armor lug correspondingly. Before finally securing them with the cylinder's thongs running under the Tank's bottom, Chip had to take some trouble and switch the Gyrotank between modes a number of times.

Only when he was completely sure the new elements wouldn't interfere with the movement of gyrochassis did Chip connect his gas-mask to the socket of the cylinder's hose and wind it around with several layers of adhesive tape. Gadget would have designed something better and more reliable, for sure, but he had to work with the materials available here and now.

Luke came running and laid a folded piece of paper he brought in his mouth on the ground in front of the Rescue Ranger. "Here's the map of the arena interior. At least, that's the way we think it looks like based on our data. This," the dog pointed his paw at the black oval over sector 3, "is the area of the last collapse. It completely cut sectors three and four off from the rest of the structure. You friend must be somewhere here, on the top floors of sector four. There's the sea of burning fuel on the ground floor, and the first floor collapsed entirely. So he's either on the second floor or higher, or—"

"Got it," Chip nodded. "How can I get there?"

"Don't even know." Luke shrugged his shoulders. "Firemen say it's impossible to get there until the fire extinguishes. If only…"

"What? If only what?!" Chip hurried the dog.

"If only to fly over the rink."

"And what about the joisting, the supports?"

"They surely were there. But after the dome had collapsed for the most part, it's hard to be sure of anything for certain."

"So, that's it. Well, that's something at least, thanks."

"Not at all. I hope you'll find your friend there! Good luck!" Luke bid farewell and ran to sector 2. Chip checked the fastening of the cylinder and flashlight one more time and turned to Zipper hovering nearby.

"Okay, Zipper, it's time for me to go."

Zipper waved his hands in protest.

"No, no," Chip objected, "you can't go with me. There's nothing to breathe in there, and there's only one source of oxygen. Go to the hospital and wait for us there. Got it?"

Zipper shook his head and squeaked heatedly.

"What? You'll be waiting for us here? Well, as you wish. I'm planning to return through sector 3, so you can buzz somewhere there. But you'll probably have to wait for a long time. Very long time. Understand me? Very."

The fly brushed a tear aside and nodded.

"Okay, Zipper, I salute your choice. You worked great today. I'm proud of you!"

Chip patted the fly's shoulder with his finger and climbed into the Gyrotank. Passing the hose through the open hatch, he made sure the valve was closed and there were no air leak, and then turned on the dryer. He definitely didn't like the tapping he heard. _All right, I can't do anything to help it now, so there's no other choice but pray and hope the dryer will stand this last drive_. With this thought Chip pushed the pedal and the Gyrotank, its wheels screeching, darted forward.

Upon reaching sector 3, Chip stopped the Gyrotank in the safe place under a fire truck and checked the map. According to Luke, the upper tiers of sector 4 could be reached either from below through the fire, or via the upper tiers of the adjacent third sector. But now, after the large-scale collapse, the upper floors of this sector were surely cut off from the rest of the complex.

It left Chip with only one option — go to the hockey rink through sector 9 and try to 'fly over' the rink into the desired sector. But it was possible only under three conditions. At least one overlapping or joisting, something leading to the third sector had to withstand the dome's collapse. Second, this 'something' must be reachable for the Gyrotank. And third, this 'something' must endure the weight of the Gyrotank along with the cylinder, flashlight and his humble person.

"And that's all?" Chip smiled ironically answering his own thoughts. "It just couldn't be any easier! Rescue Ranger, away!"

He drove around Ice-Dome from the north and entered sector 9. Driving was easy at first. This sector wasn't damaged very badly and apart from the heat as he approached the center of the arena nothing indicated the terrible disaster nearby. Going up by ramps, stairways and sometimes plumb walls, Chip entered the upper tiers of the sector and only now headed right to its center.

Thick smoke appeared and the heat became intolerable. Reaching the first big heaps of debris, Chip stopped the machine and got out on the roof. He put on the gasmask and opened the valve and burst into coughing—he had become used to the smoke-filled air and now the oxygen was an intrusion. Chipmunk adjusted the oxygen feed to his needs and switched on the flashlight. A powerful wide beam pierced the surrounding smoke and Chip saw the illuminated fragment of the double doors leading to the stands. Their folds became charred, the varnish covering them distended, and tongues of flame could be seen slipping in between them and the door post.

_The gates of hell. No more, no less._ And on the whole this was exactly the case.

"All right, then," Chip said to himself, lacing the straps of his helmet as tight as possible, "time for my entry!"

The red-hot dryer raised a strained howl, the worn-out wheels gave a piercing screech, and the armored vehicle plunged into the unknown. Chip directed the Gyrotank right into the center of the doors and got ready for a collision. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten. Five. Impact!

With a deafening crack the doors gave way, splinters flying in all directions. One of the door folds was torn out of its hinges, the other swung wide open, and the Gyrotank dashed out on the stands. Chip turned the steering wheel to its limits and beyond while he mashed the brakes, causing the Gyrotank to stop, barely evading the long trip down the demolished stairway. Chip caught his breath and opened the hatch to have a look around.

The infernal view opened before his eyes was staggering. Where the ice of the rink had been in the morning, the flame frenzied now. The bright colored seats on lower tiers were gone, given place to the debris of the fallen dome and the wreckage of the crashed airliner. Like a forbidding black cliff, one of the sections of the aircraft's hull with empty eye-sockets of shattered illuminators rose from the raging sea of fire. A thick black cover was hanging in place of the roof; the starry sky could be seen in the roof's few chinks. Even here, on the topmost tier, far away from the fire the heat was unspeakable. And there, at the bottom…

"Like everyone predicted, the match turned out pretty hot!" Chip hemmed, though he had never had any inclination for grim humor before. But now it was happening all by itself, and he simply took it for granted. After all, professional cynicism is way better than the ward in a mental hospital. _Enough of that, there's no time for introspections and self-analysis. Time to think about how to get to sector 3._

Chip threw his head back. The headlight on his helmet couldn't be compared to the flashlight mounted on the Tank, but he nevertheless managed to navigate in the smoke above vague outlines of a steel crossbeam running from west to east. Before the catastrophe it had served as a mount for floodlights and a support for technical gear, but the collapsed fragments of the dome demolished it all and now the beam was lonely protruding from the wall, cutting suddenly short over the lower stands. Does it have any continuation? The headlight didn't reach that far. The Gyrotank's flashlight could certainly help, but it was tightly locked in place by the cylinder's thongs and any attempt to pull it out threatened to wreck the whole construct. And the loss of the oxygen cylinder was certain death…

Chip heard a rumble growing. At first he thought that something started to collapse, but then realized that it was a helicopter producing this sound. The rumble grew into thunder — the vessel was flying very low. Maybe firemen decided to fly as close as possible for a drop of fire retardant, or maybe journalists after rare footage ventured to draw near the fire and smoke. Whatever the case, the blast of air from the blades rotating amuck tore the impenetrable shroud asunder and Chip saw IT. The continuation of the collapsed support crossing over the whole rink and running further away up to the stop. Up to the third sector.

Just what he needed.

Good. Suppose the first condition is met, a way across. But what about the second—could he reach it? After all the Gyrotank could fly only in one direction, the opposite to the needed one.

Or could it?

Chip looked down on the devastated stands. There, on the stairs in the gangway between rows of seats, a huge slab laid. It was a piece of the dome which crushed the gallery in its fall. The missing part of the gallery was right under it, supporting it in diagonal position to form a peculiar jump-off, directed right at the intact part of the gallery.

"Some kind of Christmas card, no?" Chip half-smiled. _Well, if there's no other way out, we'll jump it. I've got only one attempt. I'll either find himself on the gallery or on the fire-flooded hockey rink. A death-defying somersault, the first and last performance._

"Okay, friend, let's fly!" Chip addressed the Gyrotank. It didn't answer, but Chip didn't need the answer. He switched the hair dryer on and waited for it to reach full power. When the Tank started shaking impatiently, he released the brakes and the sudden spurt almost crushed him flat against the seat. The Gyrotank flew off its resting place and landed on the stairs by the steep curve.

The debris almost turned the stairs into a slope, but the Tank still jumped up and down, forcing Chip to hold the steering wheel with all his might to avoid bumping his head into the roof. Jump, another jump, and the wheels slipped against the smooth surface of the slab. Had the Gyrotank been a little lighter he would have inevitably skidded, but the steel hull together with the flashlight and oxygen cylinder made it far more stable and controllable. _But will the Tank be able to reach the cherished gallery? We'll find it out soon. Very soon._

Liftoff!

For a second Chip thought he just hovered in one place. But then the ruined gallery started to close in, slowly as if unwillingly. _Come on, come on! Just a little bit more! Just a couple of feet!_

When the gallery was mere inches away, Chip pressed the mode-switching button. The skateboard wheels retracted and the gyroframe's plungers locked into position. But it wasn't all. The frame's mounts were situated on the sides, so its rotation axis was at a right angle to the Tank's flight direction. To dock the Tank Chip had to make one more small maneuver.

A loud slurping sound heralded that the upper plunger reached its destination. But the bottom part of the Gyrotank continued to move forward from inertia, and the plunger base threatened to break. Chip immediately activated the rotation mechanism and all the plungers started revolving. The seven of them were doing it idle, but the top-most, being fixed, rotated the tank. Because of this the vessel didn't fell down but, due to that very inertia, moved to the next plunger and the Tank settled in. Now Rescue Chip had to control the vehicle looking through the observation slit in the side. The view was worse, but he wasn't going to perform any complicated maneuvers. The plungers endured the additional load, the gallery endured the Gyrotank. Everything was fine.

Until the fire helicopter returned.

Apparently, that first time the pilots were just aiming where to drop their load. Now they dropped it, and a thick flow of heavy powder fell from the skies. It didn't hit Chip, who had passed over almost all the rink by that time, but the gallery, already hanging on a nut bolt and a prayer, didn't stand this test and started falling apart. The Gyrotank shook, the fever ran along the whole length of the gallery, unseen ropes broke.

The powder hit only a handful of the gallery, but this blow and the ensuing vibration was enough to upset the fragile balance and the destruction process started to build. Chip squeezed all possible and impossible power out of the engine. The slurpings of individual plungers merged together. Bluish smoke appeared from under the engine hatch. The insulation started burning. The section of the gallery which the Gyrotank had passed only seconds ago bent unnaturally. Chip realized he wouldn't reach the opposite wall in time. And although he left the hockey rink of fire behind, he wasn't very fond of falling down along with the next section onto the ruined stands.

The section right above him crunched and moved slightly downwards then stopped again. _Maybe, it will hold after all_ Chip thought, but the next moment, as if telling the Rescue Ranger "Dream on!" the last of the ropes still holding on broke and the whole gallery crashed down. _It will fall_ the chipmunk realized and knew it was time to act. And rather quickly.

Chip stopped the Gyrotank and activated its rotation mechanism once again, turning the vessel to face the third sector. He finished just in time. The far end of the gallery came to rest against the rink, the whole construction shook and the mount of the plunger holding the Gyrotank broke. The heavy machine started falling. _That's it! Now or never!_ Chip initiated a mode switch and the Gyrotank transformed in midair as it fell into the third tier of the stands. Something cracked loudly beneath the cabin floor and the armored hull sank slightly. The Gyrotank jumped up a couple of times more and, as it broke all the way through the doors, darted into the hall where it came to rest, burying its ram into a marble pillar. Behind it, the remains of the gallery tumbled down with a clash, blocking the way back to the stands.

Chipmunk kneaded his hands, grown numb from the strain of the moment, and got outside to assess the consequences of the flight and fall. The base of the skateboard was cracked right in the middle and bent down dangerously. The rear wheels were dislocated. The hair dryer's frame was black and the nozzle was damaged; its length diminished in half. A piece of axle protruded from where the broken plunger had been before—the other plungers were also damaged by the contact with the red-hot metal of the former gallery. But the flashlight and the oxygen cylinder were intact and, much more important, he was in the third sector!

"Now to find Monterey Jack and get him out of this labyrinth and get him all the help he needs," Chip said. _If he still needs it, that is._

No sooner had Chip driven from behind the pillar than he realized that if it hadn't been for that, he himself would have needed help no more. Literally a few feet behind it the precipice started, formed by the notorious collapse which rendered sector 3 almost unreachable. Chip slowly approached the edge and looked down. This conglomeration of concrete slabs, armature and other construction waste was impassable even for the Gyrotank…

Since the Case of the Cola Cult Gyrotank had been used very rarely, Gadget did her best to equip the machine assembled over a few hours with all needed for the full-scale rescue mission. That's how the afterhatch appeared with electric winch installed right over it, which Chip was using to get the trapped rodents down throughout the day. This time he used it to go down onto the debris, where something metallic glittered. Because in this sector firemen managed to extinguish the fire, the air was more or less fresh so Chip left his gasmask in the tank and descended onto the crashed slabs, beneath one of which a crumpled oxygen cylinder could be seen, just like the one installed on the Gyrotank.

Chip got further down and looked under the slab. His headlight illuminated big dark-brown Labrador Retriever covered with marble dust. _This must be that Oby one_ Chip decided. The dog was dead, his spine broken by the concrete slab like dry thin reed.

"Well," leader of Rescue Rangers quietly said to himself, "at least he didn't suffer. His light was just switched off. Not so bad, actually, for a hero."

He took off his helmet honoring his colleague fallen in the line of duty and returned to the Gyrotank. _Nothing and nobody will help Oby. Let's hope Monterey Jack didn't share his fare._

Chip drove south toward sector 4. Having lost one of its plungers, the Gyrotank wasn't able to move along the walls as freely as before. The speed decreased substantially because of rear axle damage. The cracked board threatened to break completely at anytime. Chip had to be careful and drive around even the most insignificant holes and debris piles he used to ignore, and every now and then Rescue Ranger had to climb out of the machine and look for path through the debris literally groping his way and driving the Gyrotank along with the help of remote control.

There were no signs of either Monty or the Ranger Wing on the second floor, and Chip drove upstairs via the damaged ramp. The third floor was one complete and utter burning ruin covered with smoke. How can you find a small plane and her rodent pilot in this vast labyrinth, even by human standards? By intuition only. Or if you get very lucky, though it wasn't very reasonable to set your hopes upon luck on a day like this.

Chip didn't notice a small pit on the floor and the Gyrotank's front axle ran into it, causing the armored machine to halt abruptly and stoop forward. The flashlight's beam stooped too, illuminating a comparatively small pile of concrete and reinforcement bars topped with an orange plate which didn't fit the surroundings at all. Chip immediately directed the Gyrotank there and, found on the burnt detail the Rescue Rangers; logo. It was the Wing's wing. _But if one wing is here, where's the second one? And where is the rest of the plane?_

Chip didn't have long to ask the question. The rest of the plane laid a little way aloof, reduced to rubble after the collision with the concrete slab. Chip carefully examined the wreckage but Monty was neither in it, nor under it, nor near it. He looked around with the flashlight but saw nothing more than thick smoke. So he switched Gyrotank into climbing mode and started turning it around, narrowly looking at the debris caught in flashlight's beam. _No, that's not it. And nothing's here. And here… Hey, what's that? Ah, nothing...or not nothing…? No, that's it!_

Chip ran in the direction of the beam but suddenly somebody or something grabbed him by his head and he fell on his back waving his hands. At first he didn't comprehend what had happened, but then he saw the air hose stretched like a string and cursed to himself. How could he have forgotten about it? Lost his head completely. He was lucky the hose endured, or everything could have ended here and now.

Chip put the Gyrotank back on its wheels and, this time remembering to drive it along, ran up to Monterey Jack lying at the foot of one of the piles. The Australian was covered with dust and concrete crumbs and was almost indistinguishable from the surroundings. The fact he unfastened his belt when reaching for the amulet saved him, for had he fallen on the slab along with the Wing, he would have inevitably laid himself out. But his present condition was still nothing to be envious of.

"Monty!" Chip shouted, running up to his friend lying motionless. Chipmunk placed his ear against the broad breast but heard nothing, and Monty's chest wasn't moving at all. Monty showed no sign of life at all. Chip held his breath, tore off his gas-mask and pressed it to his friend's still face.

'Breathe, Monty! Breathe! I order you! Breathe!' Chip shouted to himself beating at giant's breast with his free hand. When he couldn't hold his breath anymore, he put on the mask back for a second or two and repeated the procedure. Nothing, no reaction.

"Hey, come on! Breathe! THAT'S AN ORDER!" Chip gave a frenzied scream. He let the gas-mask go and went on beating at Monterey's heart area with two fists. His lungs were screamed from lack of oxygen and his eyes watered because of acrid smoke, but he continued to deliver blow after blow.

"I prohibit you to die!" chipmunk uttered with a great effort, trying hard to subdue a cough. He just had to take a breath of oxygen, but something stopped him from taking the gas-mask off Monterey Jack. He was repeating to himself: _Just a bit longer! One more hit and he will come alive! Let him breathe!_ Already losing consciousness, Chip hit with two fists at once, putting in this final blow all his strength, anger and memories of his and Monty's friendship and adventures.

And Monterey Jack hit him back.

Or, more precisely, it wasn't him but his diaphragm twitching spasmodically. A forced deep cough showed that the Australian's lungs were freeing themselves from the deadly smoke. Chip, who had almost suffocated to death already, took the gas-mask from Monty for a moment to breathe in some air. Monty started twitching, with his arm frantically beating around trying to return the source of comforting air into place, and Chip pressed the mask back in a hurry.

"You hear me, Monty?!" he yelled right into his comrade's ear. "It's me, Chip! Do you hear me?!"

Monty said nothing but he managed a nod.

"Can you walk?"

Monty shrugged his right shoulder. To all appearances, the left side of the body didn't obey him.

"Okay, okay! Breathe! Everything's gonna be alright! Don't die, understood?"

Still silent, Monty nodded again. His breathing calmed down slowly, returning to its normal rhythm. Chip drove the Gyrotank right up to them and reached for the gasmask.

"Monty, it's great to see you alive! Now please, let me breathe in, okay? I'll make only one sniff and give the mask back to you, understood?" He waited until Monty nodded then Chip carefully removed the gasmask from his face and avidly breathed.

"Well, Monty, let's get you out of here!" chipmunk announced returning the mask and conjuring with the remote controls. He turned the Gyrotank around, making its rear part hang right over Monterey Jack, opened the rear hatch and turned on the winch. When a sufficient amount of rope was in his possession, he tied the muscle mouse around as tight as possible, took the gas-mask away one more time and set the winch lifting. Monty hadn't disappeared in the hatch yet but Chip was already climbing up into the cabin. Once Aussie was close to the driver's seat, he gave the gasmask to him and started the dryer. It was time to leave this inhospitable place.

"Hold on, we'll be home soon!" Chip shouted, maneuvering at the highest possible speed among the debris. The Gyrotank jolted and bobbed up and down on the pot-holes and a cascade of sparks could be seen shooting out from beneath the sagged rear axles. Now Chip had to descend, find a way out and catch the ambulance heading to the Central City Hospital somehow. Easier said than done.

Reaching the tell-tale precipice created by the grand collapse, the Gyrotank jumped down on the biggest slab and drove down it like a trestle. The skateboard cracked even louder, the axles bent even more, but Chip didn't notice it. All his attention was focused on the road ahead, now that were in safer air..

Down on the ground floor the Rescue Rangers' leader searched for one of the emergency exits he had rammed earlier. He thought he had turned the arena's walls into an all-round sieve during his numerous drive-outs, but now all exits seemed blocked. But that's impossible, walls don't heal themselves that quickly. Oh, here it is!

The demolished ventilation grating was situated in the deep bay and was hard to notice at first. Chip directed the Gyrotank right into it, trying to fit into the narrow aperture, only slightly wider than his vehicle, as best as he could. The substantially damaged axles constantly skidding to the sides and he didn't manage to fit right in. When Chip at last left the Ice-Dome, the Gyrotank lacked not one but three plungers. Okay, he'll try to get by with five.

The Gyrotank almost hit a fireman passing by and barely evaded the excavator before darting across the square to the park entrance in search of suitable ambulance. But Chip didn't have to go all the way there — he noticed the white-red body appearing for a brief moment amidst the stationed vehicles form afar. Taking the course parallel to the van's, he slowly started to close in and finally drove out on the wide thoroughfare right behind the target car. This ambulance was heading right where he needed. It remained only to run it down.

"Gonna jump, lad?" Monty's suddenly spoke, causing Chip to shake and almost lose control. The Gyrotank started to side-track and the chipmunk had to make a number of major adjustments to the steering wheel, brakes and dryer before the vehicle quieted down again.

"Next time you'd better send a smoke signal, Monty!" he cried angrily, though he inwardly rejoiced at his friend not only having revived but also started talking. "It will shake a bit now! How are you?"

"As if I was turnedah 'nto a cutlet, put in the ov'n and served uppah!" Monterey Jack slurred. "I'm all pain, legs donna move, but all in all I'm in a good shapeh! It all depends whattah want to compare it with."

"Okay, point taken! Hold on!"

"Don't worry, I'm okay!"

"No, I mean, with your hand!"

"Right. I will—"

Monty didn't have time to finish. Chip hit the brakes and sharply turned the vehicle to the left. The Gyrotank screeched but obeyed and went on sliding, its right side facing forward. Then Chip toggled the mode switch and the tank stood on its plungers. With three of them missing, the Gyrotank started bouncing higher and higher, and soon was flying forward like a soccer ball. Each contact of the metal frame with the asphalt was accompanied by a loud clang and a huge sheaf of sparks.

The passengers bounced up and down, but to Chip and Monty's great relief the hull itself remained gyrostabilized or they would have turned into double cream. This mad steeplechase didn't go on for too long, though, for the ambulance pulled up letting the huge crane pass and the Gyrotank galloped right into it. Fortunately, the impact fell on one of the surviving plungers and the vehicle stuck to the van like a natural component. Chip turned the engine off and settled back in exhaustion.

"Hey, Monty, are you still there?"

"Yeah, but I'd better be off dead. Remember me tellin' ya about the Sydney Snake Stampede of '66?"

"Yes, there was something like that…"

"Comparin' to this little escapade it's flat like Interstate 66."

Chip burst out laughing and suddenly heard something knocking at the tank's roof. He got out of the hatch and met Zipper sitting there, nose to nose. The poor fly had flown after them all the way from sector 3, straining himself to the breaking point. But at the sight of Chip he smiled and squeaked gaily despite the fatigue.

"Ah, Zipper, here you are!" Chip said. "Fly in, there's someone who'll be glad to see you inside!"

The little Rescue Ranger didn't need a second invitation. With bullet's speed he darted into the hatch and flew straightway to Monty. The reunion of old friends who had already lost any hope to see one another ever again turned out very moving. _Such moments make being a Rescue Ranger worth the trouble!_ Chip thought, closing his eyes. _Whatever you say, this day turned out being that…_

He didn't have time to finish this deep thought, because all the events of the day fell on him at once and he dropped off into a deep dreamless sleep. He would have slept till next morning with his head lying on the dashboard if it hadn't been for Zipper's anxious squeak heralding the passing of Central City Hospital's main gates. Chip shook his head, driving drowsiness away, and started the engine and carefully moved Gyrotank downwards.

Two plungers later the vehicle came off the ambulance and went on jumping along the road again, but Chip quickly put it back on its wheels and headed straight to the underground garage through a flower-bed. The Gyrotank wasn't equipped with a klaxon, but it didn't need it in the first place, because at the sight of a steel juggernaut coming at full speed both pedestrians and electrocars hurried to merge with the walls or simply run as far as they could. Even the orderlies on duty at the hospital gates whom even the most horrible burns and injuries couldn't scare froze agape at the sight of the armored dinosaur stopped only a foot away.

"What are you standing around for?! The patient's waiting!" Chip called them, climbing out of the hatch. When he saw the orderlies running to him, he shouted furiously, "Not me, dumbsters! Him!" The chipmunk pointed at Monterey Jack, descending on the winch's rope from the rear hatch. Medics carefully unbound the partially paralyzed Australian, laid him on the stretcher and carried him inside. Chip was ready to run after them when he saw the Rangermobile parked not far away and after he waved Zipper to follow the stretcher ran over there.

"Why the heck are you sitting here?!" he jumped on Dale. "What have I told you, huh? 'Bring him and return back like the wind!' Haven't I? ANSWER ME!"

"I… I didn't make it…" Dale mumbled almost inaudibly.

"What?! I don't understand! Look at me! Look here!" Chip grabbed his old friend by his nape and turned his face to himself. "What are you saying?!"

"I didn't make it…he died. I didn't—"

"What has come over you, you fool?! Do you know how many of them died at that stadium? Hundreds! Thousands! You can't save everybody!"

"I had to—I couldn't—THERE WAS A WALL!" and Dale went into hysterics.

"What darned wall are you talking about?! Calm down! YOU ARE A RESCUE RANGER, DID YOU FORGET ABOUT THAT?!" Chip yelled and gave Dale three swinging slaps across the face. Dale's head just dangled from side to side.

Dale wasn't resisting at all, just kept repeating, "No, Chip…don't—enough. I can't… I'm not a Rescue Ranger…"

At these words Chip flew into open rage and lifted his arm again, but then gradually unclenched his fist and hurled Dale back into seat. The red-nosed chipmunk grabbed the steering wrench with death grip, curled up into a ball and pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his head in sincere belief that this way Chip didn't see him.

"Well, Dale, I didn't expect this from you," Chip snarled slowly, with intermittent pauses, as if hammering nails in the coffin cover. "I'm very disappointed with you, Dale. You can't even imagine how much. I'm ashamed of you! I've never thought you'd turn out being so… so wimpy. It's just disgusting!"

Chip swung around and headed to the hospital entrance, never looking back and reviling Dale to himself like nothing on earth. _Dweeb! Lump! Milksop! He thinks he's been through a tragedy. He knows nothing of real tragedies at all! Why do I have to work with such a loser? And what should I do about it now?_

**16**

There was a loud knock at the door. When no answer followed, there was another. Gadget opened her eyes and blinked to dispel the multicolored spots flickering in the air. She fell asleep. No matter how hard she tried to stand firm, how emphatically she ordered herself to keep working over and over again, she was overcome by sleep. If only she knew how long she had slept…

"Master Gadget, are you there?" the muted voice by the door sounded. The mouse shook her head, got up and opened the door.

"What happened, Millie?" she asked obviously alarmed nurse.

"Master Gadget! One of your friends…was delivered here."

"Wait, how's that? I've spoken with him already." Gadget began. Being only half-awake, she thought that Millie was talking about Sparky at first, but almost immediately grew cold with fear. "GOLLY! No, if only not this—WHO?!"

"His name is Montague or something…"

"MONTEREY?! MONTEREY JACK?! No, no, golly!! What's wrong with him? He…is he…"

"Don't worry, he's alive."

"I…I must see him immediately!"

"That's what I'm here for. Come with me!"

Millie led Gadget to the Intensive Care ward. Any other rodent would have to spend much time elbowing their way through the crowded corridors, but not Gadget. Everybody respectfully stepped aside at the first sight of her blue overalls. Muffled 'it's her!', 'that's Master Gadget!', 'she's the one!', 'our savior!' could be heard from all sides. Somebody even started to applaud but stopped immediately having noticed the look of anxiety on her beautiful face. And so they went, followed by respectful whispers combined with rapturous and often even amorous gazes.

When Millie opened the door of the ward, Gadget saw Chip. He was completely black from the soot and dust. His helmet and jacket also were dark and the white fur of his jacket collar was charred. Like a black obelisk, he stood in front of a large window, not taking his eyes off Monterey Jack. The big mouse was lying behind the glass and Doctor Stone was tending him. Zipper also could be seen behind the window hovering above the friend's bed and looking like a small ghost because of white hospital gown he was wearing.

"Chip!" Gadget exclaimed running up to him. The leader of the Rescue Rangers turned his head and smiled.

"Hello, Gadget! How are you?"

"I'm alright," inventor answered embracing him. Something in Chip's aspect and voice disturbed her, making her feel some strange sense of déjà vu. Gadget was prepared for her friends' words she heard 'yesterday' and faces of those she met then. But this time it was something different…

"How's Monty? What happened?"

"He was making his last flight over the Ice Dome and one of his amulets fell on the floor. Monty stopped the Wing and reached for it. The water cannon from the fire engine hit him. He crashed into sector four. I got him out. He's been examined by the doctor now and soon we'll know more. That's it."

The official way he made this dry perfunctory report struck Gadget to the innermost of her heart. She certainly knew that Chip was reserved by nature, but to refer to this tragedy almost killing his old friend THIS WAY?

"Chip, are you…how are you, yourself? Are you hurt?"

"No, Gadget. I'm totally fine. The Gyrotank suffered heavily, though. It's sure a great vehicle! You surpassed yourself by building it. If it hadn't been for it, Monty and I would have shared poor Oby's fate back at the stadium. Oh, sorry, his name would hardly tell you anything."

"No, no, it tells me! Oh Golly!" the mouse's voice trembled. "I completely forgot! He…he died in sector three, right? The ceiling fell down on him?"

"Yes, that's right, but how…oh, I got it. It was in your dream, too, right?"

"Yes. I should have told Vader—I could have saved him. I should have saved him."

Chip clasped her softly and gently caressed her back to soothe her grief. "Don't Gadget. You couldn't have known for sure. And today you've done so much, it's simply hard to imagine you doing more! No one else could ever have done it! They told me how many devices you'd made and how many lives you saved."

"But I could have!" Gadget protested. "I saw Vader when I was leaving with Dale! I should've thought about Oby! It's my fault!"

"No, Gadget! It's not your fault? Do you hear me? You can't be blamed for anything! You're the best! I'm proud of you. You saved us and because of it we were able to save many others. In fact, every rodent saved by me, Dale, Monty or Zipper, is saved by you!"

"You…you really think so?"

"Certainly I do, Gadget. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No, never."

"See? Oh, look, the doctor's coming out! He'll tell us everything."

Gadget turned to the ward door from which Doctor Stone emerged. When he came up to her and Chip, the inventor grabbed the old mouse by his hand.

"Tell me, Doctor, how is he? Please, don't hide anything!" Gadget said.

"Don't worry, my dear. His life is out of dan—"

"How badly was he injured? What's the matter with him?" Gadget interrupted the doctor and felt Chip squeezing her shoulder.

"Please, let him finish," he whispered into her ear, then turned to Stone. "Go on, Doctor."

"Thank you, young chipmunk," the doctor said. "So, as I have already said, his life is out of danger. But, as you understand yourselves, such a fall has its consequences. He's very lucky to have survived, to be able to speak and move his right hand. But that's pretty much it."

"Wait, what do you mean 'that's it'?" Gadget murmured.

"I'm sorry," Doctor Stone parted his hands. "His spinal column was severely injured. The nerve-endings controlling the lower half of his body and his left hand are damaged. I can't tell, and no one else can tell whether they will regenerate. Certainly, anything's possible, but his chances are to put it mildly very slim. Most likely, he will never walk again. I'm very sorry."

Gadget turned away and buried her face in Chip's shoulder as she burst into violent sobbing. Chip embraced her and almost on the border of audibility whispered, "Thanks, doctor." Stone nodded and exited the ward leaving them alone.

"Golly…Chip…it's so…so terrible…" Gadget choked out, muted by her sobbing and Chip's charred clothes.

"Yes, Gadget," he answered shortly. "But he's alive and still with us!"

"Yes, but…but now he…"

"Well, it happens. Remember how Nimnul fogie-rayed him? How he sat in the rocking-chair, covered with plaid, constantly asking "Huh? What'd ya say?""

Gadget remembered and barely held back her laughter. Monty was indeed so funny then…then.

"But now it's completely different. You can't just reverse this with some prunes."

"So what? Monty's still a Rescue Ranger! And besides, you heard what the doctor said. Anything's possible! You know, I've never believed in wonders before. But now, after your dream, I know they happen. You should only believe. Agreed?"

"Yes, Chip, you're right!" Gadget rubbed her face with her overalls' sleeve and looked into his eyes. "Thank you. I feel much better now, really. Forgive my weakness."

"What are you talking about, Gadget? There's nothing to forgive you for. You are a pure wonder. I told you so today, remember? You're the best in the world!"

"You're too kind to me, Chip. In the morning I…it was—"

"Don't, Gadget. Everything's alright." Chip touched her cheek and gently rubbed the wet tear tracks off her tender skin. "By the way, since you mentioned it…"

Gadget thought her heart would jump out of her chest. "Yes, Chip?" she uttered trying hard to keep her voice steady.

"You know, Dale's feeling very miserable…"

"Because of Monty?"

"No. He didn't bring one of the victims to the hospital in time, and he's very upset of it. Please, talk to him. He needs you, I know. I feel it. Go see him. For me. Okay?"

"Golly, Chip, of course! Where can I find him?"

**17**

When Gadget entered the underground garage and saw the Gyrotank she nearly fainted right there. It was impossible to look at the formidable, once elegant vessel without shuddering now. The base of the skateboard was broken into half and only the oxygen cylinder's tightly fastened thongs kept it off the concrete. The wheels were worn down almost to the axles and protruded in different directions at various angles. The gyroframe was missing three plungers and was warped as if being mercilessly mauled for a long time. The ram was crumpled flat. The steel hull was covered with dents all over. The hair dryer was melted almost completely. All in all, it was easier to list what _wasn't_ damaged.

_Stop!_ she pulled herself up, forcing her brain out of repair mode. After all, she came here not to fix the Gyrotank but to help Dale.

She found him right where Chip said. Dale was still sitting in the Rangermobile's front seat curled up into a ball and almost completely hidden under his Hawaiian shirt, still pulled up over his head. Only his ears were sticking out. The faintest noise caused him to give a start and shrink even more, though it already seemed from the lack of space the only place he could go was another dimension. _Chip was right,_ Gadget thought. _Dale really needs help._

"Dale," mouse called quietly. Chipmunk shivered even stronger and mumbled something, but the words were impossible to decipher because of the shirt screen.

"Dale! It's me, Gadget!" she called louder, and the chipmunk after a brief period of sitting still began to toss trying to free his head from out of the collar.

"Here, wait, I'll help you!" Gadget cried. She climbed in the seat near Dale and by combined effort they managed to free his head from the fabric prison. A single glance at her friend worried the inventor. The cheerful and buoyant Dale was gone. Instead there was someone looking at her with a haggard face and flabby cheeks with eyes red from tears.

"Golly, Dale…" she reached her hand out and passed her paw over his cheek. In the morning his hair was soft and silky to the touch. Now it was wet with tears and sweat so that it stuck and hanged in separate clods. Her touch made the pitiful-looking chipmunk flinch as if it wasn't her hand but something like red-hot poker.

"What's with you, Dale? What happened?" Gadget asked in trembling voice, feeling herself on the verge of hysterics. _What the heck is the day today?! Monty lies paralyzed! Chip's unnaturally reserved and cold! And now Dale turns from a merry and joyous person into a wreck!_

"Don't be silent, Dale!" Gadget grabbed him by the collar and shook. "Say something! DALE! PLEASE!"

"Gadget…" Dale murmured.

_Thank goodness, he speaks!_

"Yes, Dale! It's me! I'm here!"

"Gadget. You came…"

"Yes, I came! Golly, what's with you? Tell me, please!"

"I…I didn't make it…"

"What, Dale? Who didn't you make it in time for? Go on, I'm listening! Just don't keep silent! I beg you!"

"I didn't make it… I didn't make it with Morgan."

_Good gracious, a sensible phrase!_

"Who is it? Who's Morgan?"

"Injured…badly injured. I drove along 2nd Rat Alley but it turned out blocked by the wall." At the return to that thought his eyes bulged. "There shouldn't have been any wall! There was never any wall before!" Dale was almost shouting.

_Okay, that's much better…_

"Golly, Dale…dear, it's not your fault! You didn't know! You did everything you could!"

"No, Gadget!" Dale sobbed and turned away. "I did nothing. If I did, Morgan would be alive. I didn't save him! I'm not a Rescue Ranger. I—"

_Golly, no! Not this! At first Chip nearly left, now Dale. How can it be?! How can this be happening?!_

"Dale, I know nothing will return Morgan, but…but think how many animals you've saved today! How many you conveyed to the ambulance risking your own life! How many of them received timely help thanks to you!"

"You…" Dale turned to her and Gadget saw the first gleams of light in his eyes. "You… really think so?"

_He is so sensitive. So vulnerable._ Looking at him she saw herself. She was just like him now on that one rainy day when she had left their headquarters—at the time she thought, forever. She too had been morally broken, crushed by the unending sequence of failures and crashes…

_He endured so much. And not only today._ He tried to win her attention for so long. Tried to show he wasn't indifferent towards her. He rejected Foxglove's love for her. Who knows what he had to go through, to hear and to say that night before the bat's sudden leaving.

He really needed her. All these years he'd needed her. But she was too carried away with her work and it remained for him only to sigh sorrowfully at the sight of her turning his next present into a component of her latest invention. And after that to put on the headphones and listen to some Norwegian band's sad melodies pretending all the time that Iron Goose was playing.

As if from somewhere nearby, Gadget heard distant, slowly increasing rolls of thunder. It was the introduction of the song she listened to 'yesterday', already falling asleep in the dark hall of their empty headquarters:

_"It's the weight below us_

_And our fate before us_

_Like a rolling thunder_

_Rolling up from under…_

_Don't ever leave this way _

_I know it's getting harder, but hey _

_If your world should crumble, yeah _

_And the rain gets in _

_Running through your skin _

_Soaking you outside in…"_

She felt herself covered with a sea wave. Burnt with scorching sun. Soaked with tropical rainstorm. Seized with a wave of winter cold. Everything at once. She never suspected she was able to feel like this. This feeling was a hundred times stronger than her rationalism, realism and thirst for new knowledge taken together. And Gadget, incapable of holding this turbulent sensation, surrendered to it. She bent forward to Dale, put her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his cold salted lips:

_"The rain... see it falling _

_But I don't know how long it will be _

_Until the storm is over _

_I'll wait _

_I will…_

_Like the years of silence _

_To the growing violence _

_Like a rolling thunder_

_Rolling up from under…"_

She felt Dale's hands slowly, as if afraid of getting burned, touch her shoulders, then go deep into her hair, slip down along her neck. He cuddled her to himself and answered her kiss with his own. And everything was fine, or should have been, but something was a problem.

_Ah, yes, sure!.._

Gadget reached for the laces of the gasmask hanging from Dale's neck and, having unfastened them, threw the interfering thing somewhere on the backseat. Dale kept pace and dispatched her goggles right behind, so they would no longer hamper him to caress the mouse behind her ears…

_"Don't ever leave me this way _

_Wait a little longer, yeah, stay _

_Through all the night I tumble, yeah _

_When the rain comes in _

_I will shed my skin _

_Losing it from within…"_

"Dale…you know, I think we're being watched," Gadget whispered, noticing a few curious onlookers with a corner of her eye.

"Really? Look at me."

"Looking."

"Who do you see?"

"Only you."

"And I don't see anyone…but you…"

_"See the rain... it's falling _

_But I won't be leaving your side _

_Until all is over _

_I'll wait _

_I will…"_

They felt good together and nothing and nobody could disturb them. Neither steering wrench, against which Dale brushed with his elbow from time to time, nor underground garage, nor other animals entering and leaving the hospital existed for them. Someone having seen the embraces pair turned aside. Someone looked at them for some time and sighed, remembering the brightest moment of his or her life. Someone thought that the chipmunk arrived by the strange car found his lost love on the crash site ("he's at the wheel, after all!"). Someone considered that it was her who had found him ("he's so smudgy, obviously out of the fire!") All of them were right. They found each other. After a very long search.

_"So many lifetimes you've been waiting for it _

_All through the good times _

_When you tried to ignore it…"_

They sat there, holding each other in their arms, and saw only one another. Dale, as red as his Hawaiian shirt, nestled up to Gadget and was looking at her, bathing in her blue eyes like in the sea. Mouse smiled back noting with joy that all the darkness and emptiness filling him earlier now was gone without a trace. She saw the Dale she knew, the one she'd mourned over 'yesterday'. The Dale who needed her. And whom she needed.

_"When the rain comes in _

_I will shed my skin _

_Losing it from within…"_

"Ahem-ahem!"

A loud half-cough sounded so unexpectedly that Gadget and Dale almost fell out of the Rangermobile. Gadget adjusted her rumpled collar, Dale sleeked his disheveled head tuft, and they turned in the direction of the sound. Chip was standing there in the shadow of the pillar, leaning against it, his arms folded on his chest.

"Sorry to interrupt you," he said. "You are a cute couple, really! Looking very good. But it's time for us to leave. Gadget, your goggles fell down. Try looking there, between the seats. Dale, are you ready?"

"Yes, certainly, Chip. Commander, sir!" Dale did a clumsy salute and went on tinkering with his seat belt.

_I wonder how long he's been there. _Gadget felt herself turning beet red from nose to toes and leaned over the seat for her goggles to hide her embarrassment. Chip came unstuck from the pillar and approached them. Gadget attempted to read at least something his eyes, but they were just like two black holes, all-consuming and letting nothing out. Chip looked at her, then at Dale trying to buckle his belt to no effect, and the inventor clenched inwardly, ready for everything…

Chip smiled and extended a hand to her. "Let me help you, Gadget."

"How…what, I'm sorry?" Gadget asked but seeing Chip wasn't angry at all hurried to seize the opportunity to change the topic. "Oh, you mean—certainly! Thanks!"

She leant on Chip's courteously extended hand and jumped off the Rangermobile.

"Not at all, Gadget," chipmunk answered climbing on her seat. "It's a pity to leave you again, but Ice-Dome is waiting. I don't know what Darren has piled up there, but I'm sure I won't like it. And you have a rest. It was a hard and nervous day."

"Yes, you're right, but I really don't—"

"If you don't want to rest, then please see what can be done to the Gyrotank. Its damage mounts up to a week of work, I know, but still…"

"Okay, Chip!" Gadget nodded. "I'll fix everything, I promise! It'll be as good as new!"

"I know, Gadget. Thank you! I'd have never made it without you. Good-bye. Start the machine, Dale, I'm in a hurry!"

Chip patted his old friend's shoulder. Dale nodded and switched the power on. The fan started humming and the chipmunks made a circle around the garage and left. Gadget followed them with her eyes until they disappeared behind the corner, then she went to the hospital's workshop for spare tools. When some of the wounded shouted something salutatory or applauded, she smiled and waved her hand in response. When she was approached with words of gratitude for saving someone's relative, she stopped and listened attentively, accepting their warm thanks.

She felt some unusual warmth and light in her heart. She usually experienced something similar finishing some truly large-scale project, but now those emotions were much brighter and loftier. For even the incoming overhaul of the Gyrotank couldn't be compared with bringing _her_ Dale back to life.

Gadget came into the workshop and started to collect into the wooden box the most essential tools. She got so carried away that only after packing everything did she notice that her goggles still hung on her elbow. The mouse put them on.

And froze.

--

"…_Gadget, your goggles fell down. Try looking there, between the seats…"_

--

Chip. Underground garage. Just a few minutes ago.

_HOW DID HE KNOW WHERE MY GOGGLES WERE?_

_Oh, please. He noticed them lying on the floor of Rangermobile and told me…_

_BUT HE WAS STANDING TOO FAR AWAY, AT THE PILLAR, AND COULDN'T HAVE SEEN THEM FROM THERE!_

So he surmised it. Saw the goggles absent from her forehead and guessed they must have fallen somewhere. Just a simple deduction, Sureluck Jones' style.

But if it wasn't?

_WHAT IF CHIP SAW DALE THROWING THEM THERE?_

Then he must have been standing there from the very beginning. But he behaved as though nothing had happened.

_AS IF HE WAS EXPECTING EXACTLY THIS!_

Gadget felt a lump in her throat, black dots started dancing in front of her eyes and she laid hold of a table edge to keep her feet. It can't be! she repeated to herself. It's not true! Chip would have never…

_BUT THIS TIME HE DID EXACTLY THAT…_

--

_"Gadget, maybe you should be his gun moll," offered Chip, when the cargo hold doors shut behind Capone and Arnold._

_"WHAT?!"_

_Her indignation was beyond limits. And Monterey Jack's indignation, too._

_"Chipper, how can you say such a thing?!"_

_"Not for real," Chip waved his chained hands. "Just pretend! Then, once you're free, you can set us free…!"_

--

Albeit not straight away, she agreed to do it then. But at that time it was indeed only a game, only a part of the plan to free her friends and stop Rat Capone's nasty scheme. At that time she knew what was required of her and for what purpose.

--

"_You know, Dale's feeling very miserable… Please, talk to him. He needs you, I know. I feel it. Go see him. For me…"_

--

But this time Chip used her on the quiet, having skillfully and subtly played on her feelings to Dale.

--

"_Thank you! I'd have never made it without you!"_

--

Her meeting with Dale was directed and staged by Chip from the very beginning with the sole purpose to force him to forget his deceased Morgan and get back to work. He realized that no threats and persuasion would work on Dale so he sent her to him. Used her like a valuable resource. Like a strong medicine. That's all. Nothing more.

--

"_I'm sorry; as they say, nothing personal, but if I were you I would start searching for new friends…"_

--

Vader. Square around the Ice-Dome. 'Yesterday'.

_GOLLY!_

Now Gadget understood why she couldn't get rid of that persistent sense of déjà vu when talking to Chip at the Intensive Care ward's window. That look lacking any accessory emotions. The skimpy and well-calculated gestures. Those cool and well-adjusted phrases. Even when he reassured her, when he spoke very good words about Monty and the need to believe, something was missing from his eyes and voice. That warmth, that sparkle coming straight from the heart, which had been there in the morning, in the dense canopy high above headquarters. It was gone now.

Because that heart was gone.

She didn't talk to Chip. She talked to Vader. Her Chip died. Perished there, in the fiery bowels of the Ice-Dome. Not physically — the Gyrotank saved his body. But no armor could have protected his soul. And it burned away, leaving only a casing scorched from within.

_Nothing personal. Let's go, Dale, I'm in a hurry…_

She didn't feel the impact of the floor. Nor did she hear the clash of the toolbox falling right next to her.

**18**

When Gadget regained consciousness she immediately felt something was wrong. She tossed and turned, getting out from under the blanket.

_BLANKET?!_

Gadget sat up abruptly. At first she thought she was in the hospital, but then recognized her room and her bed. And her pink nightgown.

_But how did I get here?_

"I must have lost my senses, and friends transported me here…" she mumbled and abruptly stopped. Then once again she looked at her nightgown with the jumpsuit thrown absentmindedly on the bedside chair.

She couldn't have changed her clothes herself. Which means, someone else did it. Who? One of the hospital nurses? Unlikely, for that would mean she was driven home in the gown. So, one of her friends did it, barring Monty who was paralyzed and Zipper who was too small for that. Either Chip or Dale, then. But Dale would hardly have permitted himself to do it. Just like Chip, who turned so red yesterday when she said she needed to change.

But that Chip existed no more, having given place to a cynical professional, stern Rescue Rangers commander, who simply couldn't have allowed such a precious member of his team to sleep in the rigid jumpsuit.

Gadget flinched in disgust at the thought. She wanted to take a bath immediately, to throw her jumpsuit and nightgown away. No, burn them! Along with the pillow and the blanket! And everything this monster could have touched! She literally flew out of bed, grabbed the jumpsuit by two fingers and, holding it in her outstretched arms as far from her as possible, went to the middle of the bathroom's floor. Already downstairs she smelled the cheese aroma coming from the kitchen on the lower floor. Someone was making a breakfast. Who could it be?

No one but Chip.

Gadget felt herself boiling up like a kettle forgotten on the kitchen-range. _I'll show him! I'll tell him everything I think of him! Then I'll hurl that jumpsuit right into his unfeeling face! No! First I'll hurl it, and then tell! No, not hurl, but shove it right into his repugnant mendacious mouth! And tie it in a knot! No, first I'll make a knot, and then shove it!_

But the moment Gadget flew into the kitchen like Fury unleashed, she stiffened in astonishment, dropping the jumpsuit on the floor. The juggernaut was vanquished.

At the oven, his back turned to the door, stirring a pot of cheese soup with a ladle in his hand stood Monterey Jack.

**End of Part 2**


	4. Part 3 Today Again

Part 3

**Part 3**

**Today Again**

**1**

"M… Mon… Monty?" Gadget stammered at last.

"Hi, luv!" Monterey Jack turned around to see her. "I'm sorry, but the breakfast isn't ready yet, I didn't expect anyone to get up so early. What's da matter? Ya look like you've seenah ghost!"

"I … that is … they've discharged you from Small Central Hospital already?"

After these words Monty froze, spat six times over each shoulder and bumped against the mirror-scrubbed frying pan hanging right in front of him twice. Then he grabbed some odd things from the table, did a couple of elaborate gestures and only after all of that answered.

"Gadget-luv, you don't joke like this! You mustn't do that today! It's Saturday! The thirteenth!"

Gadget slowly turned to the loose-leaf calendar in the corridor. It was indeed showing number 13 in all its splendor. Saturday, June 13th.

_Golly, could it be…_

"Gadgie! Wait! Where are ya goin'?" Monty asked anxiously when she headed to the hangar doors.

"Nothing, Monty, everything's alright … I'll be right back. Just have to check something."

In the hangar Gadget immediately saw the Ranger Wing stationed in her usual place. The Plane's engines were in the same state of half-dismantledness she'd left them yesterday … the day before yesterday … on Friday, in short.

_Very good…_

The inventor opened the narrow door and went down the steep winding stairs to the garage. Rays of early morning sun barely seeped through the small windows cut under the ceiling, and the twilight reigned in the spacious room. But even it couldn't hide the massive outlines of the Gyrotank standing at the opposite wall.

Gadget slowly, as if fearing to scare a fleeting image away, approached the combat vehicle—intact and undamaged. The base of the skateboard sparkled with fresh varnish. Its yellow reinforced wheels were the embodiment of speed and reliability, and the powerful battering ram — of strength and persistence. The perfectly circular gyrochassis stood as though it boasted of its plungers, haughtily bristling in all sides. The steel hull radiated an aura of tranquility and confidence. The blanched dryer, like an impatiently hoofing horse, demonstrated its readiness for a marathon drive.

The switch clicked, and sudden bright light caused Gadget to squint. Covering her face with a paw, she turned to the doors and saw Monterey Jack.

"Gadget-luv, you forgot somethin'," the Australian said, holding up her jumpsuit she'd dropped in the kitchen.

"Thanks, Monty, I didn't even notice!" mouse answered, coming up to him and collecting her clothes.

"Donna ya want to explain, what's 'appenin'? You've never worked in the garage in yer nightgown before."

"You know … you see…" Gadget began, but, as ill luck would have it, couldn't find any sane explanation. And she obviously couldn't say something in the spirit of 'I love the smell of Gyrotank in the morning'.

"What's with you, Gadget-luv?" Muscle mouse asked blandly, taking her fingers with his palm. "Ye're beside yerself. What happened? Please, tell me."

"Monty, can I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Gadget, whatevah ya say!"

"Pour me the biggest plate of your cheese soup, okay? I seem to haven't eaten for an eternity!"

"Sure, darlin'!" Monty brightened up. "For you everythin' will be by the highest standards! Like in da best diaries!"

"I've no doubt!" Gadget laughed and, deeply inspired, ran upstairs.

'Yesterday'… That is, 'today'… All right, 'previous time' she almost destroyed everything instead of correcting. Because of her, Chip almost left the Rescue Rangers and turned into a real monster in the end. He had changed here, in Headquarters, as a result of her precipitate actions which started the irreversible chain reaction. But now she knew exactly what to do.

Chip's transformation.

Dale's emotional break-down.

Monty's paralysis.

Oby's death.

She won't let this happen today!

**2**

"**Hello, America! Basil Sands on the line, Casey Rodriguez here in our studio too as we begin the coverage of the decisive seventh game of Stanley Cup Finals series. Today all roads lead to Ice-Dome. No-no, you haven't misheard anything and it's not a new name for the San-Angeles Rangers arena 'cause, you know, it happens to be in a whole other city, for this match is due to be held on neutral ground…"**

"**That's certainly if you can call neutral ground the closest neighbor city of San-Angeles!"**

"**You've got a point, Casey! It's common knowledge that the Disciplinary Committee's verdict instilled a controversy. But the Chairman of the Committee commented on the verdict that, I'll quote here, 'The home ground philosophy is a cornerstone of League matches' conducting policy', end of quote. Besides, the official investigation revealed that the last week's disorders on the stands had been instigated by the Michigan team's fans, and it couldn't have had an impact on the Committee's decision. So if you ask me, I'm gonna say that justice triumphed in this case. Besides, having fought their way to the seventh game, the Rangers proved themselves in a mood to fight to the end…"**

"**And the heroic breakthrough by Mark Sheffield in the last seconds of game six, when the East Coast was all ready and waiting with their champagne at hand, is a decisive proof to that!"**

"**Yes, it was a phenomenal moment! So, as I was saying, they decided to play this game not too far away from San-Angeles, and I feel I'll have a hard time calling this arena 'neutral ground'…"**

"**We are all visitors here, but the Michigan Red Stars are more the visitors than the Rangers!"**

"**That was the definite catchphrase of the day, Casey! As you all can see, Ice-Dome is thick with fans, and there's no surprise here! There were no tickets available a looong before game day…"**

"Heh…" Monterey Jack sighed with sorrow, twisting precious a blue ticket in his hands. "I still feel somewhat uneasy. Old Benny tried his hardest, and then we…"

"I understand, Monty," Gadget nodded. "But the dream."

"It's all right, luv. I'm sure if I saw somethin' like that tonight, I would turn everythin' over here upside down!"

By the time Gadget returned from the reconnaissance flight on the Ranger Wing, hastily restored to working condition, the chipmunks were up already. Monty's report of the morning's events simultaneously gladdened and seriously alarmed them. Chip, as always, took initiative into his paws and they were discussing and agreeing on their plan for almost an hour. But all their preparations were abruptly broken by Gadget having returned as unexpectedly as she left.

Chip hadn't had time to thoroughly prepare his speech and had to improvise. Not very long, though, because inventor immediately got down to business. On the whole, the subsequent conversation developed according to the same scenario as 'the previous time', but now the mouse already knew how to persuade her friends, so everything went smoothly. However, despite this, Dale's handkerchief still came in handy…

"Don't swallow your pad, Dale!" Chip chided. "Let me hold the stick for you! Are you sure you don't need any help? Maybe we should secure the mask somehow? One more word and I'll be back with hammer and nails in a second!"

"You're going too far, Chip!" Gadget observed, although Dale's attempts to simultaneously eat, hold his stick and adjust the mask constantly slipping down on his face, thus impeding eating process, were indeed amusing, and Chip's meticulous remarks showed that he hadn't changed a bit yet. And it was encouraging.

"Don't pay attention, Gadget! He's just jealous 'cause he doesn't have a real hockey stick!" Dale proudly answered and struck the floor with his sporting equipment, causing his mask to fall down on his face once again.

"But I have a scarf!" Chip parried. He waved the tip of the scarf at Dale, which then, absolutely accidentally, ended up on Gadget's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" chipmunk apologized and brushed the scarf aside with his paw. The scarf left her shoulder, his paw didn't. Gadget stole Chip a look. He strenuously pretended he wasn't interested in anything but hockey, but his glance moved from the screen to Gadget from time to time. When he saw her looking at him, he smiled and turned pink.

Dale's answer didn't keep waiting. The red-nosed chipmunk slowly lowered his hand holding the stick behind the sofa and carefully hooked Chip's fedora with the stick's blade, throwing it down on the floor. Chip, naturally, rushed to pick it up and Dale seized the opportunity to embrace Gadget.

"How do you like the match? The Rangers' play is excellent, don't you think?" he asked with a broad and amorous smile.

"Yes, Dale, absolutely!" The mouse returned Dale a smile, and he, having melted completely, bent forwards to kiss her.

"HURRAH! We've scored! Hurrah!" Chip shouted suddenly. While doing so he sprang up from the sofa as high as he could, and when he fell back on the sofa, his neighbors were flipped up. As a result, Gadget found herself at his side, while Dale landed alongside Monterey Jack.

"Good start! And high time it is! Half a period elapsed, after all!" Monty, who had to shout almost at the top of his voice to be heard through the commentator's enthusiastic outcries and spectators' roars, upheld Chip.

"What? Really? Great!" Dale smiled too, but did it all too labored, for he wasn't enjoying this goal at all for a variety of reasons. To make things even worse, his ammunition entangled, and he had to overpass the distance between him and Gadget, pushing off the floor with his stick as an oar. But in return, he acquired a plate with sandwiches along the way, which he then presented to Gadget.

"Gadget, do you want something?" Dale asked.

"Thanks, Dale, you're so thoughtful…" the mouse reached for a sandwich, but suddenly another plate, this time held by Chip, appeared above Dale's.

"Take a cake, Gadget, it's a way better!"

"Don't, Gadget!" Dale exclaimed. "Sweets ruin your figure!"

"And fat mars skin on the face!" Chip persisted. The chipmunks went on arguing so loudly they drowned out the TV. The mouse inventor just sat there with her arm above the plates, shifting her gaze from Chip to Dale and back again, having no idea what to do next. If she takes a cake, she'll insult Dale. Take a sandwich — Chip will be hurt. Take nothing — both will feel miserable. Take both — the same. And so the three of them sat there this way until the referee blew his whistle, heralding the end of the first period of this hockey match and, at the same time, of the first 'period' of this 'battle for Gadget'.

But, if one could count all the 'periods' in all the 'battles'…

**3**

"**Okay, folks, we are all eagerly awaiting the whistle to begin the second period of this truly fantastic game!"**

"**You think, Basil, it's just the second one? As far as I reckon, it'll be the twentieth…"**

"**Wow! I haven't thought about that! But, if you're gonna count all periods in all the matches, then it would be the twenty second!"**

"**Why is that? Oh, you must be thinking of those two epic overtimes!"**

"**Yes, I sure do, Casey! I won't forget them for a very long time! So, the Rangers are leading 1 to 0. Let me remind you that the first and as for now only goal was scored by Justin Peterson in the eleventh minute. Don't you dare switch the channel, 'cause it will be getting only bigger!"**

"**And better!"**

By the middle of the second period Gadget had adjusted somewhat, though she felt as if she were on an active volcano. Chip and Dale, stirred up by hard-edged struggle on the screen, made their own true final match for the beautiful mouse's attention using a wide variety of means and methods.

They could be divided into two major categories: first there was open confrontation, such as lemonade, plates with snacks, embraces, compliments and 'accidental' touches. The second category encompassed means of undercover—or in this case, undersofa warfare—such as Dale's hockey stick, Chip's mop (he had run to fetch it during the break), grabbing one another by the paws, finger twisting, exchanges of angry looks and grimaces and many more, of which Gadget was afraid of even thinking.

But she surmised all they were doing, because, although the chipmunks broadly and amorously smiled the moment she glanced at them, she still was able to catch the look of grudge and jealousy they fired away at each other with. Be that as it may, the mouse stoically endured all the inconveniences, because the prospect to accidentally start that self-destruction mechanism which 'yesterday' had snatched Chip from her, terrified her more than anything else. So she tried hard not to let any one of their offers, gestures or looks remain unanswered.

"Croikey, what the heck 'av' ya done?! Are ya blind or what?!" Monterey Jack yelled striking his fist on the sofa as a reaction on Rangers' defender Dawson's mistake, after which, as Gadget already knew, the goal into Rangers' gates would follow.

"He'll come out one on one! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Please, don't score!" Dale lamented knocking at the floor with his stick.

Just like 'yesterday', it didn't help. The same siren wailed, the same red light twinkled, and the same 'red' sectors of the stands gaily jumped to their feet. Once again, Monty clutched his head contritely and Dale hit himself in the forehead, causing his mask to fall down on his face one more time.

"**See that, Basil? One tiny mistake and there's the payback!"**

"**Yes, Casey. In a match featuring such brilliant teams every slip is punished immediately and severely. Dawson will hear many unflattering words, that's for sure. Especially if this goal turns out being the turning-point!"**

"**Well, I wouldn't put the cart before the horse when at least one and a half periods are ready and waiting. 'Cause, as we all know, in hockey every second counts!"**

"**Let's hope the fresh Ranger five will be able to turn the beam to their favor. After having scored that first goal they're losing the initiative rather than gaining…"**

Gadget felt Chip putting his arm round her shoulders.

"Don't be upset, Gadget. The Rangers will score again!" he said with a smile.

"Certainly, Chip," mouse nodded, though this phrase reminded her of the impeding catastrophe once more.

Chip's gesture couldn't have been possibly overlooked by Dale, and Gadget almost immediately espied second the chipmunk's hand on her shoulders. Their hands didn't move for some time, and Gadget clenched at the thought that she missed something and Chip had transformed like he did 'yesterday'. But then his hand stirred, revolving on its axis, and suddenly both hands left her shoulders.

Gadget looked at Chip. He smiled, but somewhat nervously. She turned to Dale. The same picture. _Ohmigosh, they're fighting!_ Gadget conjectured and realized she must urgently do something…

"Where are you going, Gadget?" Chip and Dale asked when the inventor dashed up from the sofa.

"I'll take empty plates to the kitchen!" she answered and went on collecting dishes and cups from the small table.

"Need help?" Dale asked trying to get up.

"No-no, it's alright! Watch the match, I'll manage it perfectly! Maybe somebody wants something, if I…"

"Yes! More lemonade!" Dale's eager reply came.

"And a bag of cheese balls! No, two!" the Australian added.

"And you, Chip?"

"Please, Gadget, don't bother yourself! If I need something, I'll go for it by myself," Chip answered fondly.

"Yeah, Gadget, I'm sorry, lemonade isn't needed. I'll go for it all by myself!" Dale immediately changed his mind.

"All right then, cheese balls only. Got it! I'll be right back! Jiffy-quick!"

Gadget, her hands full of crockery, left the hall. The chipmunks kept looking at her until the door closed, then fastened their eyes back on the screen and sat silently for some time. Not too long, though.

"It's all your fault!" Chip spoke with the corner of the mouth.

"No, you started it!" Dale answered him the same way.

"No, it wasn't me!"

"So who was that? It wasn't me for sure."

In the kitchen Gadget placed the plates into the sink and loudly breathed out. Whatever you could say, it was much quieter 'yesterday'. But then she remembered 'yesterday' and Chip, tranquil as an iceberg in the ocean, and shuddered. No, she didn't need such tranquility, thanks!

Gadget once again went over everything she had done in the morning in her mind, checking whether she forgot anything. No, everything seemed done. The catastrophe was only minutes away. So far the guys had stayed themselves. So far success was on her side. _We'll see how it will be next_.

Loud joyful shouts from the hall made her rouse. Gadget washed her hands, hastily rubbed them with a towel and bounded upstairs. Entering the hall, she saw Dale finishing some warlike dance. Having made the last circle around the stick positioned vertically, he threw his helmet, with which he swung before, on the sofa. Then, with wild hooting, he tore Chip's hat right from his head and started jumping swinging with it.

Chip, naturally, went mad and tried to get his fedora back but Dale managed to constantly keep the outraged Rescue Ranger leader on the other side of the stick. Chip, beet-red and cross as a bear, was already reaching for his mop, but here, seeing that the matter was taking a bad turn, Monty decided to interfere. Having snatched a moment, he snapped the hat off Dale's paw and gave it to Chip.

"You seem to have lost somethin', Chipper!" Monty said.

"Thanks, Monty, but you shouldn't have…" the panting chipmunk answered, shaking his hat off with such disgust as if it had been used to wash the floor, no less.

"No, he definitely should have!" Dale objected. "If it hadn't been for Monty, you would've seen your hat no sooner than the cheese would have whistled! Ha-ha-ha!"

"Oh, yeah, CHEEEEESEEEEE!" Monty roared, his moustache puffing out at the slightest mention of his favorite dainty. "Gadget-luv, what's with those cheese balls?"

But Gadget didn't have to answer, because the image and sounds from Ice-Dome suddenly changed into white noise and then no less suddenly — into a commercial break.

"Hey! Where? What's that?" Dale exclaimed striking the non-guilty TV controls with his stick. Chip looked at the screen in silence. Monterey Jack opened his mouth to burst out the wrathful tirade concerning negligent TV-men and froze in this pictorial posture.

Then Monty slowly turned to Gadget and asked in a voice belonging to someone else. "Gadget, luv … this too was in yer dream?"

"Yes, Monty, this is it."

"'It'?" Dale gulped. "What's 'it'? That 'it'?! What did you see?! What?!"

But all these questions were answered not by her but by Stan Blather's live commentary:

"…**This calamity defies description. Taking into account that today's match gathered a full audience, the scale of the tragedy is already shocking. Sectors five, six and seven of the arena are completely destroyed. We don't know how many people were on board this plane, but we can already assert that this is the greatest tragedy in the history of our city. Henry!"**

"He said… sector _six_?" Dale asked in trembling voice. "But isn't it where…"

"Our seats, yes," Monty finished for him. "Gadget was right! If we'd a been there, then…"

Dale sprang up and, jingling with his pads and stick, lubberly ran to the inventor standing at the door.

"Gadget! Gad—" he shouted, but then the chipmunk fell to the floor with a loud rumble, entangled in his hockey outfit. He ended up maybe two inches away from her legs.

"Golly, Dale! Are you all right?" the mouse rushed to help Dale up

"I … you…" Dale prattled. "You … you saved us, Gadget! You… it's a wonder!"

Gadget looked at him and smiled reservedly, although there were more than enough reasons to be happy. Her friends were alive, and Chip stayed the same. For now. But the most difficult and crucial stage was still ahead…

Chip, who had stood rooted to the ground by the TV report, suddenly stirred to action. He tore the scarf off his neck and threw it on the sofa, then looked at his fellows standing still and pointed at the TV screen.

"We must go there!" Chip shouted in another, not so abrupt and flat voice.

"But Chip," Monterey Jack parted his hands, "it's all too late to…"

"Prevent the crash? Yes, it's indeed too late. As a matter of fact, we should have been there ourselves. But Gadget's dream saved us. Everything must have its purpose, and this dream, to my mind, has it too. Though I'm not superstitious, it's definitely a sign. We belong there! Men will take care of injured men, but there's no one but us who can take care of injured animals! And we must everything we can!"

'_Thank goodness_' Gadget thought. '_Chip's saying different things. And his voice isn't so harsh. And his facial expression isn't as rigid as 'yesterday'. Which means, everything's alright!_'

"You're right, Chippah!" Muscle mouse proclaimed. "I think everybody'll join me when I ask: what's our plan?"

"Yeah, Chip, what's our plan?" Dale asked doing the humorous salute.

"Let's see… Gadget!"

"Yes, Chip?"

"We'll need plunger minilaunchers, helmets with headlights, all available ropes, arrows…"

"Everything's ready, Chip! Even gas-masks!"

"I see, you didn't waste time, huh, lass?" Monterey Jack smiled and gave her a mysterious wink.

"I tried hard, Monty."

"Gadget, you're a genius!" Chip ran up to her. "Hope you wouldn't resent if I ask you to work at the Small Central Hospital today? It's situated—"

"Portero Avenue, 1001. I know, Chip. I've already loaded the Wing with everything I'll need there!" Gadget interrupted him and blushed heavily seeing Chip looking at her with his most rapturous gaze in history.

"But how? Oh, I got it. It was in your dream, too, right?"

"Yes, Chip, it was too."

"Gadget, I … I just don't have any words!" Rescue Rangers leader said. "Okay then, we'll do it this way. You, Monty and Zipper take the Ranger Wing and fly to the hospital. Monty drops you there and flies to Ice-Dome."

"Sorry to interrupt you, Chip, but I've got much better idea!"

"I'm listening, Gadget!"

"Zipper can take the Ranger Plane and fly straight to Ice-Dome!"

"Zipper?!" Chip's astonishment was beyond all bounds. "Flying the Ranger Plane?! But he never—"

"Not a problem, lad!" Monty broke in. "Old Zippah can do even more than that! The Plane hadn't flown long, though, and the yoke's pretty stiff there."

"I've fixed and lubricated the Plane and weakened the yoke mount. He'll manage it!"

"Then…" Chip faltered from emotions overwhelming him, "then everything's just great! We'll have all horsepower available! Zipper, take the Plane! Dale, the Rangermobile's all yours! I'll take the Gyrotank! Okay, what are we standing for? Rescue Rangers, away!"

**4**

Time passed by unnoticed—seconds merged into minutes, minutes into hours. The two parallel salvage operations in the ruined Ice-Dome weren't stopping for a second. Both men and Rescue Rangers worked at full stretch, without any breaks. Moreover, the amount of work to be done and the danger level only increased.

Dale's Rangermobile literally flew along the 'red' corridor from the Ice Dome to the hospital. Chip's Gyrotank literally sank its plungers into the dome's scorching interiors, and Monterey Jack and Zipper literally flew around fire and smoke trying to come closer to the dome's center.

Nobody complained, though. The realization that they themselves should have been somewhere there, where the gap breached by the airliner gaped now, strengthened them and urged them to go deeper and deeper inside the ice arena, which had turned in a blink into a volcanic crater.

And success was on their side. The vehicles functioned like clock-work. The needed instruments turned out being at hand right there and then when they were needed the most. Pure wonder, it seemed, and Rescue Rangers again and again marveled at insight and farsight of Gadget, for it was she who had selected all the equipment. They would have become even more astonished had they known how many more animals they saved 'today' then 'yesterday'. But the friends couldn't know it, for that 'yesterday' didn't exist for them.

Gadget also worked as hard as she only could. Grown wise with 'yesterday's' experience, she knew what she would need and what part of it she would be able to find in the hospital storage. That's why she brought from headquarters only the most important materials. She didn't need to waste time on searching for known solutions and test runs of completed devices. 'Today's' electrocars were much faster and more maneuverable, the diagnostic equipment more precise, and the defibrillators and reviving apparatuses more reliable and effective.

Her machinery, just like any other, couldn't save everyone. But Gadget, unlike her friends, knew precisely that 'today' they saved a lot more injured victims than 'before', all the while realizing that the decisive battle was yet to come.

"Excuse me, Master Gadget."

"What's that, Millie?" mouse asked, intently disassembling an old written off inhaler.

"A visitor wants to see you. He says you know him."

_Sparky…_

Inventor put the pliers aside and took a deep breath several times to repress her nervousness. It will be hard. It will be painful. It will be unpleasant. But she ought to do it.

"Gadget!" the bandaged scientist shouted the very moment the front wheels of his wheelchair crossed the threshold of her hospital workshop. Sparky wheelchair design 'today' was far more advanced than the previous one. The wheels were more carefully selected, and where full conformity to the patient couldn't be done, she'd handed the difference in size with a special axle design. The wheelchair was much handier both to sit in and to control.

"I'll leave you alone." The nurse smiled and closed the door behind her. Gadget drew her chair up to Sparky's and sat alongside him.

"Hi, Sparky, how are you?"

"If only you knew how glad I am to see you! You look great. Haven't changed at all. Not counting the oil, obviously."

"Oh, Sparky, please…" Gadget waved the compliment away with a smile, but nevertheless rubbed her face and hands with a rag.

"And where are the other Rescue Rangers?" the scientist inquired.

"Working in the Ice-Dome. Chip decided that I would be of much more help here." Gadget tried to say the same words as 'yesterday' for conversation to progress in the direction she was prepared for.

"Well, albeit I don't like him too much ... for a variety of reasons," Sparky gave Gadget a significant wink, "I must admit he was right. Your devices are wonderful. You know, when I first saw all those electrocars poking about the corridors I thought Harold Bucksup surpassed even himself in the quest for the newest machinery possible. But then I was told that they were the creations of one 'really ingenious mouse' and I understood everything at one stroke. Asked the nurse to take me to you, and here I am. You know, 'Master Gadget' sounds truly amazing!"

"Thanks, Sparky, you are very kind."

They sat in silence for some time, looking at each other. Gadget had already started to think that Sparky wouldn't talk about it, but then he nervously cleared his throat and spoke.

"Gadget, I fully understand that it isn't a very good time for this, but if the fates decreed us to meet again, I consider myself indebted to ask. Have you ever thought of pursuing a scientific career?"

"No, Sparky. I'm a Rescue Ranger, you know."

"I know, I know!" the rat scientist fanned his hands as best as he was able to. "But, you see, such a talent mustn't be wasted. That is, I mean, to stop halfway! You are a great engineer, you know so much!" He talked faster and faster, with more and more ardor, literally shooting the words out. "Give or take any field! Engineering! Aviary science! You can easily get a PhD! And not just a single one! Become a professor! I can arrange everything! The brand new lab is opening at MIT! One word from you and—"

And the scientist fell eloquently silent providing Gadget with an opportunity to assess by herself all the future trends opening before her.

"_MIT, science, the cutting edge of progress…"_

"_PhD, chair, professorship, progeny, own school of thought…"_

This was indeed very attractive—just too attractive to decline. Sparky knew it, Gadget knew he knew it, and Sparky knew she knew it. Gadget saw sincere hope in his gray eyes that she would accept his offer. Maybe not now, not this very moment, but in the end…

"I'm sorry, Sparky," she said, taking his hand, "but I can't. Excuse me, but it's impossible. I belong here, with the Rescue Rangers. It's a very attractive offer indeed and I'm extremely grateful to you for offering me this. I'm very pleased with your thinking so highly of my talents and that's why it's even more painful for me to refuse. Understand me. And forgive me. Please."

Sparky literally dried up. The gaze of his bright eyes went out and even his tousled hair subsided, as if his battery was pulled out.

"Certainly, I comprehend," he sorrowfully answered. "I fully comprehend. Okay then, good luck! Don't want to distract you for too long; you've got plenty of work to do. I hope next time we'll meet under not so tragic circumstances. I won't be discharged from here in the near future, so if you change your mind, you'll know where to find me…"

And he began rotating the wheels with his bandaged hands, slewing the wheelchair to face the door.

"Let me help you!" Gadget offered, getting up, but Sparky stopped her with a gesture.

"Please, you shouldn't bother. I'll manage—handy with a wheelchair, you know. Of course, the wheels could have been more … erm… of the same type, but it doesn't slow me down at all. The design of the differential axle gear is simple and ingenious! Just like everything you make, that is. Good luck!"

Gently pushing the wheels with his bandaged hands, Sparky stopped at the door and knocked. Millie appeared almost immediately and Sparky, having briefly saluted his inventor friend farewell, promptly left. When the door closed behind them, Gadget got back to work, feeling the telltale other-worldly voices vanish and give way to another, much more pleasant feeling.

The feeling of fulfilled duty.

Sparky's offer was a test, and she failed it 'yesterday'. Although she hadn't told Sparky 'yes', she hadn't said 'no' either. She just pushed the problem to the outskirts of her mind as something not demanding an immediate solution. But even that for her part was base ingratitude for the vested chance to change everything. On that 'first', the most terrible Saturday, she swore she would never again let herself to be carried away with something so as to give her friends cause for feeling themselves unneeded or secondary. But no sooner had her friends returned than she almost rejected them again, this time voluntarily. Who knows, maybe Chip's 'yesterday' transformation was indeed a punishment for this foible too?

She'll never let it happen today!

But the rejection of Sparky's offer is only the first step. It was time to take the other—

_OHMIGOSH!_

Gadget glanced at the old alarm-clock she had brought from the storage room, repaired and placed in the corner. Almost half past nine. She'd become too carried away and nearly spoiled everything again! She threw the instruments about and ran to the hospital drive-in. Any other rodent would have to spend much time elbowing a way through the crowded corridors, but not Gadget. Everybody respectfully stepped aside at the first sight of her blue overalls. Muffled voices saying, "it's her!", "that's Master Gadget!", "she's the one!", "our savior!" could be heard from all sides. And so she ran, followed by respectful whispers and rapturous or even amorous gazes.

Upon running out into the underground garage, Gadget stooped in confusion. She needed to find an electrocar heading for the ambulances station. But, as it turned out, she happened to come at the moment of arrival of the next cars full of injured, and all the electrocars available were dispatched there. And now every minute counted!

Suddenly Gadget heard low humming slowly approaching from the right. The electrocar! But the vehicle was hidden behind the wheels of a parked human car, and the inventor had no idea who or what it was carrying. And the multi-purpose electrocar of her design could carry a wide variety of loads—patients, a new shift of doctors, food for the canteen. The monotonous humming grew louder and louder and the electrocar appeared now. It was going to the garage exit, carrying the crews for the ambulances departing to Ice-Dome. Apart from the driver, a guinea-pig, there were four rodent male nurses sitting on it: two chipmunks, a rat and a mouse. And the latter seemed very familiar to her.

"MITCHELL!" Gadget shouted taking to her heels after the electrocar. "MITCHELL!"

The nurse turned back in frustration, thinking that the higher-ups wanted something from him again. But having seen Gadget he immediately changed his countenance, smiled and, having told the driver to step on the brake, jumped off from the vehicle and ran towards her.

"Mitchell!" puffed Gadget addressed the approaching nurse. "Sorry to hold you back, but—"

"Please, Master Gadget, I'm greatly honored to speak with you! What can I do for you? Oh, and besides, I'm happy beyond all measure that you know my name! It's encouraging, you know!" Mitchell observed merrily.

"But how…" Gadget began and immediately stopped remembering that their meeting in the ambulance was 'yesterday'. That is, it wasn't—_okay, that's unimportant now_!

"Mitchell, you are goin' to Ice-Dome, right? I have a favor to ask of you."

"For you — anything you say!"

"Here, take these notes." Gadget fetched three folded and signed pieces of paper from her jumpsuit's inner pocket. "These must be delivered to Chip, Dale and Monterey Jack. They're the Rescue—"

"The Rescue Rangers? Sure, I know about them! They're in charge of the rescue mission, aren't they?"

"Yes, yes! Hand it over to each of them in person. They're signed so you'll know which is for whom. Will you do it, Mitchell?"

"Certainly, Master Gadget. You can call me just Mitch."

"Good! I'm counting on you!" Gadget handed him the letters. The male nurse took them along with her paw with his broad palm and bent forward to kiss her hand. Gadget gave a start and blushed against her will.

"MITCH! Hurry up or we'll leave without ya!" the angry peremptory shout of the driver reached their ears.

"Go, Mitchell," the inventor strictly bade, liberating her hand. Mitchell straightened up and ran to the already moving electrocar. He jumped on it on the move and, looking back, blew Gadget a kiss. She smiled shortly and waved back. Mitchell smiled too and kept looking at her until the electrocar disappeared behind the bend of the ramp.

_Another test I failed 'yesterday'_ –she thought. 'Yesterday' she noticed that the male nurse's name was the same as the bomber she'd lived in for so many years. Now she was sure it had been indeed a sign, a reminder. For it was there where she saw them for the first time.

Gadget looked at her right paw, still holding the warmth of Mitchell's lips and confidently proclaimed aloud, "You should excuse me, Mitchell, but I don't have those feelings for you!"

Having said that, she sighed with relief and rubbed the palm with an oily rag fetched from hip-pocket.

**5**

Chip was getting nervous and angry. Despite the vast crowds of saved rodents passing through the camp it seemed to him the operation was at a standstill. They had already reached the middle of the eighth and fourth sectors, but further ahead laid the dense blockage of ruined walls, ceiling and walls of fire. Now their progress heavily depended on that of the firemen, and Chip didn't like it very much.

Screams and moans of victims carried through the camp, combined with the constant strained expectation of the moment when they'll have to urgently move the camp, along with regular wrangles with the Labrador Retrievers' Commander Vader only poured oil on the flames. But despite all that, Chip felt unprecedented drive and energy.

After all, it was their first real full-scale search and rescue mission, in comparison to which all their previous cases struck him as some sandbox-sized petty cares. No wonder he tried not to overlook anything, control and fathom into every single aspect. But the deeper he delved into it, the more convinced he was becoming that he was surrounded by solid ranks of dolts and duffers incapable of carrying out the simplest errand, let alone organizing something on their own! And it was driving him nuts.

He had numerous grievances even against Dale's, Monterey Jack's and Zipper's self-denying work, and all the more against the group leaders picked from amongst the Ice-Dome's rodent zone personnel who hadn't smelled any powder whatsoever. Most of his perfectionist vitriol fell on Darren, for he was Chip's immediate deputy.

"DARREN!" Rescue Rangers leader yelled in a frenzied voice at the fire inspector, trembling all over like an asp leaf in the whirlwind. "Are you incapable of anything?!

"B-by no m-means, s-sir! That is, yes, s-sir! That is, c-capable, s-sir!"

"I don't see it! I don't see it point-blank! Whose idea was it to drag the evacuees all over the smoked rooms to the exit nearest to the camp?!"

"Don't know, sir."

"So what DO you know?! It's E-LE-MEN-TA-RY! Is there only one exit?! I've breached so many of them the building will collapse soon! Can't you—"

"MISTER CHIP! MISTER CHIP!" someone's crying was heard. Chip looked there and saw a male nurse running towards them at full speed.

"I'm Commander Chip! What do you want?"

"My name is Mitchell, from Small Central. I've got a letter for you from Master Gadget."

It was as if some switch clicked inside Chip at the sole mention of her name. His face, masked with a frown during these many hours, smoothed, and a shadow of smile appeared on his lips for the first time since the beginning of the operation. He took the little white paper presented and felt the warmth radiated by it spreading through his body.

"Thank you."

"Not at all. Could you please tell me where can I find Mister Dale and Mister Monterey Jack?"

"Look there, in the camp." Chip waved in the direction of the camp set up under the crane's cabin and, when the male nurse left, the leader of the Rangers unfolded the delivered note.

**Dear Chip!**

**I know that you and the guys are working very hard. That you're working beyond all the limits, not sparing yourself and with all means necessary. I want you to know that your efforts aren't in vain. I know it better than anyone else, trust me. The happiness on the faces of those who already believed their relatives dead but were proved wrong just can't be described with words. You guys are great! You are the best! And that's why I want to ask you — be careful, be strong. Don't let the fire and the smoke ruin your soul! I need you to stay real and true. Please, Chip, hold on! Remember — I'm with you. I'm always with you…**

Some strange shroud hid the letters and words from Chip, making them to merge in a single whole. At first the chipmunk thought a cloud of exhaust from the crane's engine had swooped down. But then something trickled on the paper, then again, and Chip realized what it was—his tears. As if having pierced through the fog, the enchanting image of a golden-haired mouse appeared before his inner sight.

Like a ray of the sun, the image cut through the clouds of anger gathered in the course of the day and outshined all nightmares, all infernal pictures of which Chip had seen enough in the depths of the ruined arena. The leader of the Rescue Rangers heard as if in reality her clear voice reading the words written by her hand and imprinting them right into his heart, freeing it from the darkness.

"Commander, sir, what happened?" a scared Darren asked, watching Chip rubbing his face with his jacket's sleeve.

"It's nothing, Darren," Chip mumbled. "It's alright. Forgive me, please."

"What for, Commander?"

"For everything, Darren. I—I shouldn't have lashed out at you. We're all in this together. You are great. You are simply great. You personally are great! I know none of you has any experience with this. For that matter, I don't have it either."

"What are you talking about, Commander? You're a professional! You are the master! You—"

"Thanks, Darren, but," Chip put his paw on his deputy's shoulder and went on after a brief pause, "It's my first such operation, too!"

"It's impossible, Commander! You know so much!"

"Oh, come on!" Chip waved away. "I'm just feeling my way through this. And concerning your question, you should do the following. Move the evacuees through the exit nearest TO THEM, and then guide them to the camp along the evacuation route you're familiar with. This way it's much faster and more convenient. Oh yes, and don't gather in large groups for the risk of being overrun by a truck. Okay, Darren?"

"Certainly, Commander, sir!"

"Call me Chip. Just Chip. Okay?"

"Okay, Com… Chip!" Darren said, a smile breaking out.

"Very good, Darren! Go! I'm counting on you!"

"Thanks, Chip!"

A light-hearted Darren ran to the Ice-Dome as if he grew a pair of wings, and Chip went on reading.

**Chip, I want to ask you something. In my dream I saw one of the dog-rescuers, Oby, being killed by the collapse in sector 3. You must prevent it! Find Oby and warn him! I'm counting on you, Chip. You are my only hope.**

**Gadget**

"I won't let you down, Gadget!" Chip cried out. He put her letter into his jacket pocket, close to his heart, and rushed to the Gyrotank.

**6**

Upon his return from the regular drive along the infamous 'red' corridor, Dale wearily got off the Rangermobile and went to the siphon with water pumping out from the nearby fire truck's reservoir. The cold stream to Dale's mind would carry away with it not only the road dust, but also the weariness gradually overpowering him. Taking into account that he had already made nearly one hundred laps and had fallen asleep at two if not at three it the morning, it was astonishing how he was still able to stay on his feet.

But something kept him going, some kind of power he didn't have before. He had never been in a situation when someone's life depended so directly on his decisions. Although the Rangers had performed many heroic deeds and saved lots of lives, never before had Dale sensed his personal responsibility so keenly. The injured rodents were right here, at arm's length. With his own eyes he saw their pain and suffering, along with the hope in their looks—hope for him and his vehicle.

And Dale kept holding on. He drove at full speed, racing through such narrow spans between men and machines that it seemed a fly wouldn't get through. And with each new drive the red-nosed chipmunk was becoming more and more convinced that the whole world had gone mad, because he couldn't find another explanation for the fact that they put NASCAR drivers in bulldozers' cabins.

"Mister Dale!" one of Darren's assistants called him. "We've got three more needing urgent transportation!"

"Seat them, we'll be going soon!" Dale answered, snorting and heartily rubbing his heavy eyes.

"Mister Dale?"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming. Oh!" Dale broke off abruptly at the sight of an unfamiliar male nurse standing before him. "Hi there! You'll be riding with us?"

"No, I've got a letter for you from Master Gadget from Small—"

"From Gadget?! For me?! Give it to me! No, wait, I'll wipe my hands. Where is that darned towel?!"

"You're standing on it, Mister Dale."

"Oh, really? Interesting. Don't go anywhere!" Dale tossed about, not knowing where to run, but then it dawned upon him and he started mopping his hands and face with his Hawaiian shirt. To Mitchell's credit, he stoically endured this harrowing sight.

"Okay, okay, I'm ready! Where is it?! Where?!" Dale was impatiently bobbing up and down.

"Here it is," Mitchell presented the note to Dale and barely managed to withdraw his hand before Dale could tear it off. "Could you tell me where Mister Monterey Jack is?"

"He should be over there, by the planes. See?"

Mitchell stared at him wide-eyed.

"BY THE PLANES? You've got planes?"

"Certainly!" Dale answered proudly. "Our Gadget is a genius! She can build anything!"

"Yes, it's true," Mitchell drawled.

Dale didn't like the dreamy look on his face very much. He instantly ruffled up and moved towards Mitchell, who, seeing that, mumbled "sorry I have to go" and hastily made off. Dale followed him with an angry stare but then remembered about the piece of paper clasped in his hand and unfolded it.

**Dear Dale!**

**I know how hard it is for you. I know that countless traveling back and forth has utterly exhausted you, that you're constantly under pressure feeling the great responsibility for the lives of the rodents entrusted to you. And I want to tell you: you're doing great. Owing to you and only you, many animals who had already bid farewell to their relatives they considered already dead, found them once again. You don't see it, but I do. Hold on, Dale. I know you are very sensible and very kind. Please, stay like this. For me.**

"Oh boy…" Dale whispered ready to burst into tears of joy. "I … she … she needs me! She—me … oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…" He continued reading.

**And now, Dale, the most important. In my dream I saw you carrying the injured rodent named Morgan to the Small Central Hospital. I know that the shortest path known to you goes through 2nd Rat Alley. But you don't know that it is blocked by a wall. There's a construction site nearby and they partitioned this route and a couple of nearby alleys off. But there is another, even shorter path. The map is on the reverse side. You'll drive along the way marked on it and deliver Morgan to the hospital in time. He'll be saved, I promise. I know.**

"Mister Dale…! Mister Dale…!"

Dale looked up from the paper, quivering in his hands, and saw Darren accompanied by two chipmunks—volunteers holding a stretcher with someone heavily burnt on it.

"Mister Dale…" Darren barely moved his tongue.

"Who is it?" Dale asked in a shaking voice despite already knowing the answer to his question.

"This is Morgan; he's from the tenth sector's brigade. He fell from the beam right into the fire! He's dying! And, as ill luck would have it, there are no available ambulances from CCH now; they are either gone or just loading! So I thought maybe you yourself can—"

_You're a genius, Gadget! You're a prophet for sure! I won't put you in a spot!_ Dale promised mentally, and cried out loud, "So why are you still standing?! Put him on the Rangermobile, immediately!"

Stuffing the cherished paper into his pocket, Dale dashed to the vehicle on all fours, followed by Darren and his aides.

**7**

_And this Reverend Scott is a fine fellah! You won't tell that by 'im, but he's gotta han'shake of an olde soldjah. It's interestin' what he had been doin' before puttin' his cassock on…_ Monterey Jack pondered, spinning around like a whirligig under the flush of cold water from the siphon hose. Zipper has already washed everything related to the fire off his body and clothes and now rested on the Ranger Plane's wing. Although previously there have been certain periods in the little Rescue Ranger's life when he felt himself not so needed and useful like others, it was his day today. He was overwhelmed with pride of being entrusted with flying the Plane, and did his utmost. Sometimes he got too enthusiastic, though, the scarred hull and split helium balloon of the winged veteran being visual proof of that.

The invigorating moisture so strongly and pleasantly contrasted with scorching air over Ice-Dome that Monty too allowed himself to draw away from worldly problems for a minute or two. Besides, they were progressing with accelerated tempo. Gadget's morning diligence didn't go in vain. Both the Wing and the Plane worked perfectly, seemingly predicting their pilots' wishes. Monty hadn't even got tired from flying back and forth, and all the rodents from upper tiers were evacuated and sent to the hospital.

That's why Monty was still reveling in the water when Mitchell caught up with him. The male nurse coughed tactfully, but Monty was unavailable right now just like during his infamous cheese attacks. The medic decided to wait until the siphon-therapy was over, but then a member of the forth sector brigade, where Mitchell's ambulance stopped, came running and informed him that he'd been looking for him and had to return immediately.

Mitch sorrowfully glanced at the last white piece of paper. He promised the beautiful mouse engineer to hand her letters in person, but it would be unreasonable to poke the note under the water, but he couldn't wait and was slightly afraid to insist. Who knows how this giant Australian mouse would react upon being interrupted? Even Mister Dale was going to punch him for some reason. Here Mitchell noticed a flight cap lying on the nearby bench, obviously belonging to the addressee and realized that this was just what he needed. He carefully shoved the note under the cap so it won't be blown away and ran off to sector 4. Mister Monterey Jack will find and read this letter without fail, for it was nigh impossible not to notice.

But on a day like this everything was possible.

Monty blindly shut the water off and reached for the towel to dry his eyes. But the towel wasn't there.

"Oh, guh-reat! You can't leave anythin' unguarded these days!" Monty growled. He snatched his flight cap and found some paper beneath. 'Oh, that woul' do!' he thought. He blotted his forehead and eyes with the sheet and went back to the planes, which were covered with soot.

"Zipper, fellow!" Aussie called, and the fly roused and flew up to the old friend.

"Tired, no? What do ya think of a couple more laps, just for precautions?"

Zipper loudly squeaked.

"Agreed, fellah! I've got the case of hunger storms myself! But for those who are still there," he alluded at the ruined sectors, "it's all much worse. Let's go! Remember? Rescue Rangers…"

"…away!" Zipper finished the motto for him and they dashed to their vessels.

The heat seemed to abate slightly. Monterey Jack didn't know whether the actions of firemen or the shower's aftermath were the reason for it, but he definitely enjoyed it. Crooning 'Waltzing Matilda' to himself, he drove the Wing through clouds of smoke to the very edge of sector 8, where the building abruptly ended and the roaring inferno began.

As usual, Monty kissed all his amulets in turn, changed his goggles for a gas-mask and flew right into the smoke. He planned to fly over the fin of the fallen aircraft, reach the middle of the fourth sector, then turn around and return to base along the same route. There was no sense to travel further, for sector 3 had no one to rescue anymore.

Thanks to Zipper's flying slightly ahead and to the right of him and assiduously operating the fog disperser, Monty was able to see with the help of the Wing's flashlight, equipped with a special antismoke lamp Gadget had selected. Monty noticed the airliner's fin from far away and easily flew over the obstacle. Zipper determined it would be much more discreet to fly around the aluminum mass and lagged behind, but Monterey Jack decided not to wait for him. Having flown out on the relatively clear sky, Monty shoved his paw into his pocket for a handkerchief but discovered a piece of paper instead.

_What can that be?_ he thought, taking the damp trodden leaflet out. It was the one he found under his cap and automatically, by old traveler's habit, put into his pocket just in case. Monty took his gas-mask off and brought the paper to his face to rub the sweat off but suddenly discerned letters written on it. Making the Wing hover in place, the Australian switched on the dashboard lights and started reading. Despite the smeared ink, he was able to make out almost everything.

**Dear Monty!**

**Thanks for believing me and helping to persuade the guys to stay home. I'm not sure if I would have been able to save them without your help. But in my dream I saw not only this. I saw you flying over Ice-Dome looking for the injured still there. Then I saw one of your amulets falling down on the floor and you reaching for it, and then the water cannon squirt hitting the 'Wing' causing to fall down into the ruins. I beg you: when Chip sends you to make the last check flight, please, don't do it. Refuse. Show him my letter. He'll understand…**

The Ranger Wing jolted and Monty heard something heavy falling to the cockpit floor with a muffled tap. He was terrified to find that the biggest and the most important of his amulets had broken loose from its chain and rolled away under the co-pilot's pedals. Shivering with fear, Monty leaned overboard and looked down.

_Right into the bell of the water cannon directed at him_.

The events that followed, Monty observed as if in slow motion. His hands reached for the yoke and flight mode switch. The engines _slowly_ started rotating. The water cannon disgorged the squirt of water, which from Monty's point of view looked like the rapidly approaching jaws of some giant fish of prey.

The Wing jerked and started crawling forward. The squirt came very close and the Rescue Ranger was already discerning individual drops and specks of water surrounding the main stream like space dust surrounding a nucleus of a comet. The squirt drew closer and closer and suddenly began to bend, as if evading collision with the small aircraft, and finally passed less than half an inch away from the Ranger Wing's tail, sky-rocketing further into the black night sky.

Enchanted, Monty kept looking at it when suddenly everything around him darted off and rushed forward. The squirt started moving sweepingly away, the roar of the engines resumed as if from nowhere and Monterey Jack found himself skimming at breakneck speed somewhere over the middle of the square. He turned the Wing around and hovered, watching the nearly fatal water flow from a safe distance. He didn't notice the Ranger Plane hovering nearby at first, and only Zipper's agitated buzzing made him go out of stupor.

"Thanks, buddy, I'm alright…" Monty answered his old friend, still keeping his eyes glued on the squirt, as if expecting it to aim at him once again. "No, no, it's not my excellent reflexes. It's Gadget's prophetic talent. Okay, Zippah, let's go back home. Too many impressions for one day, don't ya think? Yeah, and to have a snack, you're right! All these jitters whetted my appetite to the sky and beyon' that!"

**8**

"Where are you, where are you all?" Chip questioned again and again nervously looked around. During his previous outings he had been constantly stumbling upon if not Vader himself then some of the other rescue dogs. But now they seemed to have vanished into thin air. One could easily become superstitious after all of this.

AT LONG LAST!

Chip turned the steering wheel abruptly and directed the Gyrotank where a red-white jacket appeared for a moment between two fire trucks. Bearing slightly to the right, he almost sprang out right in front of a group of men-rescuers, accompanied by a straw-colored Labrador-Retriever. But the Gyrotank's brakes functioned just fantastically today, allowing the heavy vessel to perform seemingly impossible maneuvers. The same happened this time, and the armored dinosaur braked some two feet from the stunned dog.

"Excuse me!" Chip shouted once he opened the hatch and popped into view. "Aren't you from Vader's brigade?"

"Yes," the dog nodded, "he's my Commander."

"Tell me, where I can find Oby?"

"His team went to the third sector."

_THE THIRD SECTOR…_

"How long ago?! Where to exactly?! What floor?!"

"LUKE!" one of the rescuers, apparently Labrador's owner, shouted. "Why did you stay there? Come here!"

"Nearly twenty minutes ago. They were to investigate the first two floors, can't say more precisely. Sorry, I'm called." Having blurted out this tongue-twister, Luke ran after his team.

"Thank you!" Chip shouted after him and went to the third sector. '_I must come in time, come in time…_' he kept repeating to himself, feeding the hair dryer with the maximum power available. Coming to sector 3, he aimed his vehicle into one of the ventilation grates he had smashed today and soon found himself in the ground floor hall. Chip stopped the dryer and lent listened. He heard voices and tapping of tools coming from the wide fissure on the ceiling.

Chip drove up to the marble pillar, the part of the ceiling adjacent to which had collapsed leaving a hole big enough for the Gyrotank to come through, and crawled up on the first floor. This time no extensive search was needed, for Chip emerged from the hole right under red Labrador Retriever's very nose.

"Excuse me, are you Oby?"

"No. I'm Chewy. Oby's working there, down the corridor."

"Find him immediately and tell to get out of there!" Chip shouted. "All of you get out of here! Everything will collapse soon!"

"How do you know?"

"I know! I—" Chip broke off realizing that if he refers to Gadget's prophetic dream Chewy would hardly believe him, so he had to improvise. "I was on the third floor! Everything's cracking up there and it's going to crumble!"

Terror stricken, Chewy dashed further down the hall, jumping over the piles of fallen pieces of walls and ceiling. With a pair of simple maneuvers, Chip came unstuck from the pillar and drove after him. The dog darted like the wind past men shoveling the debris away and flitted into a back room, nearly knocking down an aged rescuer standing at the door with a convoluted dog's lead in his hand.

"What's with yer dog, Max?" the rescuer exclaimed, looking at the doorway with wide-eyed astonishment.

"Dunno, Frank. Maybe he saw some—"

The end of the man's remark was drowned by a loud rumble. Clouds of white dust shrouded the doorway and when it dispersed it became apparent that the entire room's ceiling had collapsed.

"GOD, NO! OBY! NO!" the aged rescuer shouted, throwing off the stones blocking the door. But then everything around started shaking and men took to their heels. Plaster peeled from all sides and wide cracks formed through the ceiling. Chip at last tore off his horrified gaze from the heaped up doors, powered the Gyrotank up and headed back to the hole he had previously come through. No sooner had the Gyrotank gone through the breach then the ceiling went down.

The building shook and the mount of the plunger holding the tank broke with a loud crack. The heavy vessel barely started falling when Chip initiated a mode switch and the Gyrotank transformed in midair then hit the floor with its wheels. The base of the board creaked lamentably, but nothing else seemed to get damaged.

Chip was about to catch some breath but the ground floor ceiling started to crumble too, and he was forced to get off with a jerk one more time. He barely passed through an emergency exit and rushed out on the square surrounded by the cloud of building dust. Having almost hit the firemen running by and barely evading a collision with bulldozer, Chip stopped under the crane deployed right in front of the grating.

Alarmed shouts could be heard everywhere. The chipmunk got out of the hatch and looked back on the third sector covered with a thick shroud. A group of rescuers emerged from the doors to the right. Covered in plaster from head to toe, they walked slowly, time and again glancing back at the two men bringing up the rear. Aged Frank didn't conceal his tears and moved his legs unevenly, supported by another rescuer, Max, who had also lost his four-legged colleague and friend to this collapse.

Depressed, Chip sat down on the edge of the Gyrotank's roof. His heart was breaking, and tears flowed down his cheeks. He was eager to howl and gnaw the steel hull at the thought of his having let Gadget down, having failed to fulfill her appeal, to justify her hopes. Moreover, not only did he fail to save Oby, he killed Chewy too. The leader of the Rescue Rangers covered his face with his paws and dropped his head on the helmet, lying on his knees.

"I wasn't able!" he murmured through tears. "I failed you, Gadget! It's all because of me! My fault … I didn't save Oby … I killed Chewy. I'm not a Rescue Ranger any more! I'm a murderer, not a Rescue Ranger!"

Chip didn't remember when the last time he had cried properly. He even forgot how it felt.

He remembered it now.

"HERE YOU ARE! PRAY NOW BEFORE I GET THERE!"

The thunderous voice sounded so unexpectedly that the chipmunk froze for a second. He hadn't heard any noises and thought he was hearing things. But having lifted his face distorted with grief, Rescue Ranger saw a black Labrador Retriever's wide muzzle with two streaks of grey hair right in front of him.

It was Vader.

The look of assumed indifference which Chip had already got used to after all their numerous encounters now gave place to the bared teeth. Because of Chip sitting on top of the Gyrotank he turned out right on the rescuer dogs Commander's eyes level.

"What do you want?" Chip asked almost inaudibly.

"WHAT DO I WANT?!" Vader hissed, bending forward to Chip and almost touching chipmunk's face with his fangs. "Listen, you meddling fool! I've long tolerated your pranks, but I won't forgive you Oby's and Chewy's death! I saw you flying in there in this darned tin box, and in a moment everything went down! What did you do in there?! What did you did it for?!"

"Commander Vader, you are mistaken," Chip said silently but firmly.

"WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"Yes, I flew in there, like you said—"

"If only you tried to deny this!"

"But I just wanted to warn about the impeding collapse!"

"What?!" black Labrador burst into a malicious laugh. "And you, puny piece of fur, want me to believe this? Couldn't you come up with something wittier, huh?! I see you're a liar, among other things! It's not your way to admit your guilt, is it? Or we're just too proud for this? Very well, I'll kick it out of you in a second!"

And Vader raised his forepaw for a crushing blow. Chip looked at Labrador's black hair standing on end, on his bare teeth, on his big shining claws, on his eyes glowing with infernal flame.

It wasn't Vader before him.

It was Death itself.

Better that than life with a murderer's stain.

Chip stood up, rubbed his face and threw away his helmet in a single movement, and looked right into Vader's bloodshot eyes.

"All right, Commander Vader! Here I am!"

The dog was taken aback, but didn't let on. This chipmunk wasn't afraid of him at all. It was neither bravado nor bluff — Vader has lived long enough to learn to accurately recognize both. In the eyes of this chipmunk he saw everything — grief, sorrow, cold determination, regret for what had happened, after all. But fear there wasn't. He wasn't afraid.

It didn't matter, though.

Vader draw his paw back and Chip knew it was the end.

"Farewell, Gadget…" he whispered. "Forgive me."

Suddenly Chip heard a dog's barking filtering through the noise, reigning on the square. Turning to the sound, the chipmunk saw two silhouettes emerging from the dense shroud covering the third sector. Two fully equipped rescue dogs stood there with gas-masks and oxygen cylinders, but unnaturally ghastly. Despite this, Chip recognized Chewy in one of them.

_But if the first one is Chewy, then the second must be Oby_! _They came from the other side. Came for their murderer. For me. But what if I see them because I'm dead myself? Of course_! _Vader has delivered his blow already, and now my own lifeless body is lying on the roof of the Gyrotank and my soul is soaring over the square full of men and machinery._

Chip shifted his gaze to Vader. The black Labrador was still towering above him with his forepaw raised for the deadly strike. But he wasn't looking at Chip. He was looking at Oby and Chewy running by, enveloped with whitish haze.

_He sees them!_ Chip realized. _But if it is so, then…_

"OBY! CHEWY!" Frank and Max shouted, rushing to meet the dogs. They knelt down and, when the dogs ran up and put their paws on their shoulders, embraced them. The other members of the rescue team clapped his hands and laughed gaily, watching this touching scene of return of their four-legged fellows they already considered deceased.

Oby and Chewy wagged their tails, licked the faces of their human partners all over and crawled about their red-white jackets with their paws, leaving on the thick fabric tracks of their claws and spots of white building dust they were covered with from their heads to tail tips…

"Well, dumpling, looks like today's your lucky day!" Chip heard Vader's hoarse voice.

"Whatever you think, Commander Vader." Chip sat down on the Gyrotank. "Whatever you think. But I really wanted to help!"

"Know what, rodent, I can tolerate many things, but lies aren't on my white list!" Vader grumbled. "If you keep insisting on that, I'll maim you so bad that—"

"COMMANDER VADER, STOP!" the shout was heard and the black dog who raised his paw once again turned around. This was Chewy running to them.

"Commander Vader! Wait! Don't do this!" Chewy said.

Vader gestured toward Chip. "Chewy, you've become senile or what?! This scoundrel almost killed you, Oby and the whole team! He—"

"No, Commander, listen to me! He saved us!"

"What are you talking about?! Are you crazy?!" Although Vader's speech sounded threatening, faint notes of doubt could be heard in it. Vader knew it, and so he raised his voice rather trying to restore self-complacency and regain former confidence.

"He told me that there were cracks on the second floor and it was going to collapse! And everything happened just like he said! Oby and I barely managed to run out of the room when the ceiling went down! If it hadn't been for him, Oby would've been killed! It's the truth, Commander!"

Chewy fell silent, catching his breath, which was still heavy after all the running and his loud speech. Vader slowly put his paw down. He looked first at Chewy, then at Chip. His anger gradually subsided, having given place to a feeling he had always thought was impossible to feel for someone smaller than himself..

_Gratitude_.

"Listen, what's-your-name…" Vader hemmed.

"Chip," Rescue Rangers leader answered, his voice faltering with the weight of the day.

"Chip, you say. Looks like Oby, Chewy and I owe you—"

"Never mind," Chip interrupted, a sober look now on his face. "It's our job."

Vader gave a short laugh. "I think I'll agree with you now. Well, we must go. If you and your friends need any help some day, just ask! Every rescue dog will consider it an honor to assist you!"

"Thanks, Commander Vader. You too can call upon us in case of a problem!"

"We'll see. You can call me Vader. And don't be too cross with us, you should understand—"

"Sure, Vader!" Chip managed a smile. "If I had thought my friends got hurt because of you, I would have grown even angrier!"

"Yes, maybe," black Labrador answered and extended his paw with a smile. The chipmunk shook it with his two hands, and the dogs went to join their brigade. Chip looked after them, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks. This time they were the tears of joy, though. He lay on his back, stretched out his hands and looked at the bottom of the fire crane above him for a long time.

_Such moments make being a Rescue Ranger worth the trouble!_ Chip thought with a happy smile. Then he got up, picked up his helmet and got down on the ground to assess the possible damage to the Gyrotank. Apart from the piece of axle protruding from where the broken plunger had been before, nothing else suffered.

It seemed nigh impossible after such a fall, but, having looked under the board, Chip understood the cause. The Gyrotank's suspension brackets and axles had been rebuilt and reinforced, and its powerful springs seemed to be able to withstand the landing of a plane on the roof, let alone the fall from the second floor.

"Gadget, you are a pure wonder! Thank you. For everything," Chip whispered softly and deeply sighed. Having cast one more glance at the happy rescuers, he got into the cabin and drove back to the camp.

**9**

Dale scurried under the police barrier and between two adjacent patrol cars as he entered the park. He tried to drive around the territory occupied with bustling people and machines going back and forth wherever possible, but there wasn't as much free space in the park as he wanted. A couple of times he just had to drive through a couple of tents and under the cars. Dale had performed similar maneuvers so many times today, though, that he no longer considered it an adventure but unavoidable routine. There was no place for bright impressions right now. Later maybe, but not now.

Taxiing out on 110th Avenue, Dale fetched a paper with the map drawn by Gadget from his pocket. He needed some time to find where the map's top and bottom were, and his passengers were reminded of the frailty of existence one more time. But, however impossible it seemed, Dale didn't collide with anything.

At first he tried to control the Rangermobile holding the steering wrench in his right hand and the paper in the left, but the others revolted and the chipmunk, giving in to the opinion of the majority, handed the map to the hamster with heavily burnt paws back sitting next to him and drove along following his directions. But, despite Dale's total belief in Gadget's genius, sometimes the route she had suggested gave rise to some ambiguous emotions.

"'The second turn to the LEFT'? Are you sure?"

"Yes, that's what's written here! In black and white!"

"But that's in the opposite direction. Okay, hold on! How's Morgan?"

"Very bad!" one of the passengers sitting in the back answered. As if in support of his words, Morgan had a fit of strained coughing.

"Tell him to hold on! We'll be there in a moment!"

Despite the dashing tone, there was a gnawing in Dale's heart. The maze of backstreets they rushed through was absolutely unfamiliar to him. If it hadn't been for the map, he and the others would have vanished in there without a trace. They drove through holes in fences, barely squeezed between the garbage containers and even drove through some musty basement. The road was full of pits and bumps, tossing the passengers of the Rangermobile constantly, and each time the face of the hamster sitting in the front seat was distorted with a grimace of pain from his burnt skin touching the back of the seat.

The other injured animals also had a hard time of it, and their screams and moans didn't added any optimism whatsoever. But no one objected. Everybody knew that their injuries were nothing compared to Morgan's suffering. And they were moving forward after all, which would have been impossible to do had Dale turned on one of much more straight and wide streets, choked with cars.

"Where now?" Dale asked his neighbor and a willy-nilly navigator.

"Wait, it's slightly illegible. Some fountain … foundation… FOUNDATION PIT!!" The hamster seized Dale's sleeve with a truly heart-rending shout.

"Foundation pit?! What foundation pit?! What's there about foundation pit?! Read on, quickly!!" Dale jabbered.

"Here, here. 'Run across the tilting board…' 'Unit pressure of the front axle on the ground equals…'"

"It was definitely written by Gadget," Dale mumbled angrily and lashed himself mentally for having thought badly of her. If she wrote it, then she considered it important!

Or, maybe, she just got too carried away…

"Okay, okay," the hamster said. " 'Behind the pile of bags with cement you'll see three large pipes. You must go into the leftmost one. Drive through at full speed, brake under no circumstances! There will be a ramp of planks right behind it. Driving along it, you'll jump over the foundation pit and find yourself in—'"

"WHAAAT?!" everybody shouted in terror. That is, everybody but Dale, who just froze and was unable to produce any sound at all at first. Then he just kept repeating to himself, "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…" and drove the Rangermobile, guided not by senses but by instincts he'd developed through the day. And unforgettable voice of Roger Houston came to his mind, saying, "Training. It makes a job seem easy…"

"Foundation pit you say…ramp made of planks you say…" Dale mumbled at last, and then having regained his senses, shouted aloud, "Then you'd better hold on!!"

He pressed on the pedal, squeezing all available amperes out of the attenuated accumulator. The fan hummed so fiercely it seemed it was going to either burn out or tear off and fly away. The Rangermobile pranced and jolted and everybody sitting on it thought it would inevitably crash—and, most probably, it would have, had they been on 'yesterday's' Rangermobile.

But Gadget, knowing in advance what obstacles Dale would have to overcome, had thoroughly adjusted the vehicle to make its journey. When it reached the water pipe it rushed through like a wind through an airshaft. Nobody had time to appreciate the size of the foundation pit, which gaped in front of them now, and the Rangermobile was already merrily bouncing up and down on the boards forming a narrow ramp leading into the void.

Twenty feet.

Ten.

Five…

Liftoff!

For a second Dale and his passengers thought they just hovered in one place. But then the opposite edge of the pit started to close in, but just too slowly and unwillingly.

"Come on, come on!" Dale cried addressing the Rangermobile. "Just a little bit more! Just a couple of feet…"

The Rangermobile answered nothing but flew over the pit and broke through several layers of stripping film as it darted out into 2nd Rat Alley literally a couple of steps behind the gray concrete two story high wall blocking the path. Dale steered the wrench left to its limits and the Rangermobile, having torn off some moss from the wall of the building across the pass with the fan's blades, rushed forward and after a minute or two reached the crossing of Portero Avenue and 24th Street, from where it was a stone's throw to the Central City Hospital.

"Tell Morgan we'll be there soon! In a minute, two at the most!" Dale shouted, holding right behind an ambulance just passing by. Having slipped through the hospital gates along with it, Dale headed to the underground garage where the Small Central Hospital drive-in was situated. Barely passing by one of the electrocars, he stopped at the ventilation grate, usually closed to hide the drive-in but today fixed in the uppermost position. A doctor and two orderlies with a stretcher watching by the gates immediately ran up to them.

"Here we are!" Dale proclaimed, switching the fan off.

"Thank you!" hamster with burns shook Dale's hand. "If it weren't for you, we'd still be waiting for an ambulance."

"Nevermind!" Dale answered. Then he turned back and told Morgan lying between the seats, "Everything will be alright! They'll help you here!"

The doctor, right at that moment examining the heavily injured, addressed the orderlies. "Condition's critical! Pulse and breathing almost absent! Get him inside immediately!"

"Oh boy, oh boy," Dale bewailed, jumping down on the floor and grabbing doctor's hand. "Will he live, Doctor?! Tell me he'll live!"

"We'll do everything possible! Thanks for your help. Now sorry, I have to go!" The doctor freed his hand and ran after the stretcher. Dale stood near the Rangermobile for some time, and then followed him on all fours.

**10**

"…Consequently, the device turned out very simple to operate. The only thing that needs very careful attention is the position of the modulation adjustment switch and the reading of the output frequency indicator. If these parameters correspond, there will be no problems. The table of the value pairs can be found on the page 46-F of the manual and duplicated on the frame for additional clearness. Basically, that's all!"

Gadget collected all the sheets and handed the weighty pile to one of the doctors accepting the new apparatus. He took it with a devout tremble, smoothly transforming into a holy terror, and put the mass of papers on the nearby table which creaked under its weight.

"Thank you, Master Gadget!" The head of the diagnosis department, an aged doctor-squirrel, shook her hand. "I simply don't know how we can repay you efforts and whether there is anything in this world of comparable magnitude with your help!"

"Golly, doctor, don't mention it!" the abashed mouse answered. "It's such a mere trifle."

Gadget broke off at the sight of a red and yellow Hawaiian shirt darting past the ward window. She quickly bid farewell to the acceptance committee, alleging to some urgent business, and ran after him. It was useless to call Dale, for he wouldn't hear her in all the hustle and bustle reigning in the narrow corridors. So the inventor had no other choice but to run after him, hoping she wouldn't loose his tracks. Fortunately, his shirt stood out like a bright spot against the background of colorless hospital robes. But even in spite of this she caught up with Dale only when he stopped at the doors to the intensive care ward where no trespassers were allowed.

"How are you, Dale?" Gadget asked running up to him.

Dale didn't expect to hear her voice and gave a start, but immediately fell on her neck.

"Gadget! Oh boy, oh boy, Gadget!" he hasn't recovered from the marathon drive through all those back yards and his sprinter's heat through the hospital, and his emotions just boiled over. "Oh boy, oh boy … that was one heck of a race… Oh boy, oh boy … they didn't let me in to see Morgan and I ran so fast! I must know how he is!"

"Let's go, Dale!" She grabbed him by his paw and dragged along to the door. Having uttered "He's with me!" to an orderly on duty, Gadget led Dale to the ward window behind which medics worked over the dying Morgan. The injured rodent had been connected to a cardiograph already and his heart rate could be seen blinking on the screen of an oscillograph in the corner. It looked almost completely flat lined, with only tiny knobs showing that his heart was still functioning.

A sudden and very loud ringing made Dale and Gadget stop up their ears. Even here, behind the glass, the jingling impeded with normal conversation, and inside, in the ward…

"What's that?!" Dale shouted. "What's happening?!"

"It's an alert signal!" Gadget answered pointing at the absolutely flat line on the screen. "His heart stopped!"

"OH GAWD! He died! He still died!" Dale bewailed and sat down right on the floor. "I didn't make it! I let you down…"

"Calm down, Dale! Nothing is lost yet! Look!" Gadget raised the chipmunk to his legs and showed him two male nurses holding electrode plates, which they placed against Morgan's chest. They followed the instructions of the doctor, who had to shout at the top of his voice to be heard through the deafening trill.

"What are they doing?!" Dale asked in terror. "I saw this in the movie about Frankenstein! And I didn't quite like the result…"

"No, silly-billy, it's called defibrillation!"

"Defir … differ… what?!"

"With the help of these plates they'll run electric current through his heart. The body is a perfect conductor, that's why if you apply positive and negative electrodes to it, you'll have a closed electric circuit and a powerful charge will go through the body, resulting in an abrupt contraction of the cardiac muscle."

"Oh boy, Gadget, please, stop, or I'll—" Dale begged rapidly, turning green. Anatomic details were his weak spot, especially with electricity added to the mix.

"Sorry, Dale, I seem to have got carried away a bit!"

One of the nurses waved his hand and the doctor pulled down a big switch. Morgan's body twitched, and Dale screamed and turned away.

"And this … will this help?"

"It should!" was the answer, and Dale felt fully despondent. There was only one thing that scared him more than Gadget's 'should'. It was Gadget's 'no problems'.

"Hurrah! Dale, look!"

The inventor's shouts seemed unnaturally loud to Dale, but then he realized it was because the bell had stopped ringing. Dale quickly got up and turned to the window. The oscillograph screen was crossed with heavily a broken, constantly repeating line. The doctor and nurses were rubbing their foreheads in relief and it was hard to tell what they are happier with: Morgan's revival or the ringing stopping. The nurses put the electrodes back on the shelf and drove Morgan's bed somewhere behind the curtain, as the doctor exited the ward and approached Gadget.

"Master Gadget! Thank you for—oh, excuse me," he apologized, having seen Gadget involuntarily shrinking back from his shouting, and took the earplugs out. "This bell, you see. It alone is quite enough to reanimate the patient!"

"Golly, doctor, I'm so sorry! I must have miscalculated the power of that bell! But I'll fix everything!"

"Don't worry, Master Gadget. You've already done so much! Please, have a rest. You need some rest, I'm telling you as a doctor! And we'll get by with earplugs! You should only remember to take them out … thanks again!"

The doctor shook Gadget's paw and went down the corridor into the heart of the hospital.

"Well, Dale, as you can see, everything's alright!" Gadget addressed her friend who was still looking at the curtain which Morgan disappeared behind. At her words, as if they held the power of the world in them, he got up and started dancing with triumphant shouts right in the middle of the corridor.

Than he ran up to the mouse, put his arms round her waist and lifted her off the floor a little. Having let out a short joyful squeak, she laughed and put her arms on his shoulders. Dale laughed too and went on swinging around along the corridor with her. The mouse's hair fluttered from the rapid rotation and enveloped the chipmunk and he seemed to be covered with some magic golden umbrella. Dale kept his eyes glued on Gadget, bathing in her blue eyes like in a clear mountain lake. She was looking at him and rejoiced at the thought her morning search for the shortest route hadn't gone in vain. She was looking at Dale she knew. _Her Dale_. He succeeded. He won. He brought Morgan to the hospital in time and stayed the same. And her joy knew no limits.

They kept swinging, their resounding laughter echoing through the labyrinth of hospital corridors. And although both of them knew they were in an institution where the silence should be kept, they went on laughing. They felt good together and nothing and nobody could disturb them. Neither small benches alongside walls which Dale nearly stumbled against from time to time, nor other animals passing through the corridor existed to them. Someone having seen the kissing pair turned aside. Someone looked at them for some time and sighed, remembering the brightest moment of his or her life.

"Thank you, Gadget," Dale said carefully putting mouse back on the floor. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't even know how I would've felt if Morgan had died…"

'_But I know_' Gadget thought, answering aloud, "You were great, Dale! You saved him!"

"Sure, I'm a Rescue Ranger, after all!" Dale said and valiantly flashed his eyebrows. Then his glance fell upon the clock hanging on the wall and he grew horrified. "Oh boy, it's time for me to go! Though it's a pity to leave you so soon…"

"Don't worry, Dale, it's alright! Go, they need you there!"

"Okay, Gadget, good-bye!" and he ran down the corridor.

"Dale, wait!" inventor shouted after him. "Not there! Exit's in the opposite direction!"

"What, really?" Dale stopped and rubbed his head. "Looks like I've got completely confused. Everything looks so similar here."

"Let me go with you, or you'll get lost!"

"Please, you shouldn't bother…" Dale began, but didn't object when Gadget took his hand. "But, if you don't mind!"

And he walked alongside her, noting that it's much better not to know where the exit is sometimes.

**11**

No sooner had Chip stopped the Gyrotank and got down on the ground than Darren came running to him. The fire inspector was nearly dead on his feet from tiredness and emotional experience, and large bags could be seen under his eyes. But his facial expression was lumped and literally radiated with readiness to work for as long as needed and even more.

"What's our status, Darren?" Chip asked.

"Everything is all right, Chip. All evacuees sent to the hospital. Morgan, from the tenth sector brigade, was badly injured, and there were no suitable ambulances so I asked Mister Dale to deliver him. He hasn't returned yet. Mister Monterey and Mister Zipper are waiting for you in the camp. That's all."

"Thanks, Darren!" Chip tapped his deputy on the shoulder. "I strongly advise you to have some rest."

"But you don't rest, sir."

"Please, cut this 'sir' business. And who said I don't rest? Do you know how sweet one sleeps in the Gyrotank?"

Darren understood Chip's joke and broadly smiled.

The Rescue Ranger smiled back but said in strict voice, "Don't make me order you, Darren. Go get some sleep. Please."

"Okay, sir … Chip, if you say so."

"That's quite another matter, Darren! Good night!"

Chip shook hands with Darren and went looking for Monty. The chipmunk didn't have to search for long, though—he simply followed the cheese scent. Tossing the dining-tent's entrance cover aside, he saw the wide camp table with two pullout benches, filled up with foods of every sort and kind. Previously filled up, that is, because now the lion's, or, rather, muscle mouse's, share was gone, given place to bits, pits, wrappers and blessed memory.

"MONTY!" Chip exclaimed, and Aussie's head emerged from behind the pile of leftovers.

"Hi, Chipper!" Monterey Jack said, scraping the last pieces of cheese from a bowl of cheese soup. "Sit down and join our feast! Hope you don't mind that me and Zipper had some snacks…"

"SOME?! Monty, you've eaten all our supplies!"

"First, I wasn't alone!" Monty objected, though one glance at Zipper was enough to compare his size with that of the pile and conclude his share could be neglected. "And second, my appetite always whets when I'm nervous, especially after bein' on the verge of life 'n' death!"

Chip dug through the pile in search of at least something that had survived Monty's foray. "Monty, what happened?"

"Nothin'! But if it hadn't been fo' Gadget…" Monty made a significant pause and raised his forefinger.

"So what?"

"I wouldn't 'av' been talkin' with ya now! If it weren't for her note with a warnin' that I'm to be hit with a water cannon, I would be fryin' on the grill right now!"

"Oh my…" Chip sat beside the bench. "She sent me a note too. It didn't concern me, though, but the dog-rescuer who was to be killed by a collapsing ceiling."

They looked at each other in silence, then Monty spoke slowly:

"And the lass is just like Cassandra, huh, Chipper?" Monty asked.

"No, Monty! Better! Much better!" Chip answered, fetching a miraculously escaped strawberry from under the pile. _Gadget likes them so much _the chipmunk thought and his heart rate increased twice. _Gadget, the one and only, if you knew how much I lo—_

"And here I am!" Dale shouted rolling into the tent. "Wowie-zowie, Chip, you are so cute under strawberry sauce! Ha-ha-ha!"

Chip, who in surprise gripped the berry so tight he was sprinkled with juice all over, barely restrained himself from flinging it at his laughing friend, but having concluded it would be just a foolish waste of food, went on eating. _Dale's getting more and more catastrophic_ he angrily thought, sinking his teeth into sappy pulp. _I can't even _think_ of her without being interrupted!_

Meanwhile Dale, having laughed to his heart's content, jumped to the table and for his turn plunged into the cobweb of food. But Chip turned out to have contrived to salvage the last grain of their provisions, and Dale's search returned void.

"That's unfair!" the red nosed chipmunk shouted wrathfully. "You drive there and back again all day long and then don't get a single acorn! And they dare to call themselves your friends!"

"But ya should thank us fo' that!" Monty stated. "Moderation in food will do yer health a lot of good!"

"Oh yeah, look who's talking!" Dale snarled, as he and Monty became engaged in a noisy dispute. Chip didn't hear it, though. He just looked behind the table and stared vacantly somewhere beyond Monty and Dale, beyond the pile of leftovers, beyond the linen tent walls.

"Guys, what do you think of food at the Small Central Hospital?" he asked, as though he were taking a survey.

Dale fell silent for a moment and then exclaimed, "Great idea, Chip! After all, it was opened by Harold Bucksup the Third, who's got so much cheese that—"

"CHEEESEEE!" Monty roared. "Donna know about you lads, but I'm headin' right there! Just lemme warm the Wing's engines a bit!"

And the Australian ran out, almost crushing the whole tent in the process.

"Wait for me, Monty! I'll just take a shower," Dale yelled, following him. Chip too went after them. Despite being very hungry, the hospital canteen didn't interest him at the moment. But the word 'health' uttered by Monty lashed like a pulled trigger and launched a snowball of thoughts and feelings which gradually increased in volume and eventually filled the chipmunk's conscience completely.

_Health. Hospital. Gadget_.

While Monty and Dale besiege the canteen, he'll go deep into the maze of hospital corridors, find the most beautiful mouse in the world and tell her what he wanted to tell all these years. And nothing and no one will stop him!

Chip tossed the door cover aside and suddenly saw a snow-white piece of paper lying near the exit, apparently having fallen out of Dale's pocket, because right here his old friend had rolled in laughter. Chip picked it up and immediately recognized Gadget's handwriting. Chip knew it was wrong to read somebody else's letters, but he didn't stop. Just couldn't stop. He unfolded the note and began carefully reading the words written by the hand so tender and so dear to him.

"CHIP! GIVE IT BACK TO ME! IT'S MINE!"

Loud shouting sounded so unexpectedly that Chip almost tore the letter in half. The fedora-clad chipmunk looked around and found himself standing in the middle of the camp halfway between the tent and the Ranger Wing. Being fully engrossed in reading, he didn't notice Dale standing there, wet after the siphon shower and gripped with righteous ire.

"Give it back! Or else I won't vouch for myself!" Dale repeated his threat reaching to the letter with his paw. Chip didn't move. He was looking at enraged Dale but was feeling neither anger nor jealousy. His heart was filled with sorrow. He didn't know why. Maybe he sensed something. Maybe he understood something…

Chip shoved his hand into his pocket, fetched Gadget's letter from it and handed it to Dale.

"That's not it! Give me mine!" Dale began shouting but broke off and froze, shifting his gaze from one leaflet to another and back. Then he looked at his friend and slowly, as if afraid of getting burned, reached for the note.

Having carefully taken the paper, Dale was staring at it for some time, and it was obvious that he feared to cross this invisible Rubicon, from beyond which there were no return. And as abruptly as he had stopped talking, he started to unfold the note so hastily that he lost his breath in the process.

Having found the top and bottom at last, Dale began reading. His breathing was heavy, his hands trembled and pupils ran along the lines, literally gulping the text. Having finished reading, he looked into Chip's eyes, and Chip looked into his. And they stood there in front of one another, clutching the leaflets quivering in the wind with their numb fingers. Then, without any arrangement, they simultaneously looked at the mutilated Ice-Dome, at flames erupting from its numerous broken windows, at the thick clouds of black smoke. Then they looked back at each other, but with different gazes altogether, as if having grown more mature in a moment. Not older, but mature.

"Dale," Chip said after a seemingly eternal pause. "It's time for us to talk."

"Yes, Chip, you're right," Dale nodded. "And high time it is."

**12**

There was a loud knock at the door. When no answer followed, there was another. Gadget opened her eyes and blinked to dispel the multicolored spots flickering in the air. She'd fallen asleep. The doctor was right — she really needed to have a rest. Needed it so much that she fell asleep the moment she'd sat down behind her desk.

"Master Gadget, are you there?" the voice muted by the door sounded, and the mouse shook her head, got up and opened the door.

"What happened, Millie?" she asked the smiling nurse.

"Master Gadget, your friends came…"

Gadget grew cold with fear. Being only half-awake, she thought that Millie said her friends had been delivered here.

"GOLLY! WHO?!"

Millie was taken aback with such a shocked reaction.

"Their names are Chip and Dale."

"CHIP AND DALE?! No, no … not them, no … what's wrong with them?! They … are they…"

The female chipmunk stared at Gadget in shock, but then smiled again and took her hand. "No-no, Master Gadget, don't worry! They are alright! They came to see you!"

Relieved inventor sighed and laughed. "See me? Then they're not—oh, golly, I'm sorry! I misunderstood you. Where are they?"

"In the lounge. Follow me, I'll take you there!"

When Millie opened the door to the lounge, Gadget saw Chip. The chipmunk was completely black with soot and dust. His helmet and jacket also were dark, the white lining of the jacket's collar charred. Like a forbidding black cliff, he towered in the middle of the room, not taking his eyes off something he was holding in his paw. Then he hid this something in his pocket and now was standing with his arms crossed behind him. He looked so much like 'yesterday's' Chip-Vader that Gadget felt herself chilled from within.

"Chip!" she called quietly.

Chip turned around and smiled broadly and joyfully. Gadget instantly recognized this smile and this look and her heart lifted. It was definitely the real Chip. Her Chip. She ran up to him and they hugged one another.

"Hi, Gadget! How are you here?"

"Everything's fine, Chip! Everything's just perfect! They tell me you managed to—"

"Yes, Gadget, I did it! The Gyrotank got slightly damaged, though, but that's nothing. Besides, it's a great vehicle! You surpassed yourself when you built that one, I'm serious! If it hadn't been for it, I would have never saved Oby, Chewy and the others! You are great! You are a genius!"

"Thanks, Chip!" a blushed mouse answered confusedly. "Oh, how's Monty? Where's he?"

"In the hospital canteen, where else? He got so nervous with this water cannon affair that he literally wiped out all our reserve food!"

Gadget burst out laughing. "Yeah, that's our old Monty! And where's Dale? The nurse said you came together."

"He's in the canteen too. Like I said, all the food in the camp suddenly vanished. He also asked about Morgan's state."

"The doctors say he'll live," Gadget answered.

They fell silent for a long time, but still stood in the middle of the room, nestled up to each other. Chip gently caressed Gadget's golden hair. The mouse put her head on his shoulder and dug her face into the fur collar. Now she liked the scent of the singed coat emanating from it much more than a scent of strawberries, for it instilled additional confidence in everything happening in reality and that she was successful. Chip remained the same, Dale conveyed Morgan, Monty didn't get hurt, Oby stayed alive. Everything was as good as always.

"Oh, here you are!" Dale exclaimed upon entering the room. He ran up to the inventor and embraced her too. Now all three of them were standing there and it was simply beautiful, though it reminded Gadget one more time of that terrible 'yesterday', or rather, 'the day before yesterday' when they stood in exactly the same way in the Headquarters' kitchen not long before they left, as it turned out, forever. Almost forever, that is…

"Gadget," Chip broke the silence eventually, "me and Dale, we want to tell you something."

Gadget relaxed her arms, stepped a bit back and looked into their eyes.

"I'm listening."

Chip was silent for a while, collecting his thoughts and plucking up spirits. During his conversation with Dale, while flying on the Wing here and waiting for her in this room he mentally looked through a number of variants, but still didn't get ready enough. Dale must have felt something similar, twisting Gadget's letter to Chip in his paw, but it was all much worse for the Rescue Rangers' leader now. In that situation Dale still had hope that the letter given to him contained something pleasant or at least neutral for him, which couldn't change anything radically. Chip had no more hopes left. He knew for sure that after these his words there wouldn't be any turning back.

There couldn't be any turning back.

"Gadget," he said at last, feeling that the pause had dragged for too long already, "please, listen to me and try to understand me correctly. We, as a team, have gone through many hardships. Through danger, conflicts and even through parting. But everything always fell back into place. We were together again, we felt good and happy. And it suited me. I think it suited all of us. No dangers, no twists of fate could separate us, create hostility among us, lead us to split. And that makes it all the more painful for me to realize that, quite possible, I'll do it now."

"Golly, Chip, what are you talking about?" Gadget asked in surprise and, without waiting for an answer, turned to Dale. "Dale, maybe you can explain it to me."

"Please, Gadget, let him finish," Dale asked.

She marveled at it but nodded, and Chip went on.

"I want, and I'm sure Dale will join me, to whole-heartedly thank you. For everything. For all these years. For your voice, your laughter, your smile. All the warmth you bestowed upon us and which helped us to hold on in the hardest minute possible. You are the best of what was in my life. Now I know it for sure. I know even more — that you are the best of what will ever be in my life. 'Cause wonders like you don't repeat themselves, Gadget. And you are _the_ wonder. Yes, the Wonder starting with capital letter. Your letter snatched me out of the darkness. Saved me. Helped me to feel I was alive. Dale can say the same about your letter to him, am I right, Dale?"

"Sure, Chip! Gadget, you are the best in the world! Trust me!"

"Thank you, guys!" Gadget blushed and smiled happily. "But what's all this for? I don't quite get it."

"You know…" Chip broke off trying to keep the emotions overwhelming him in check. Having inhaled deeply a few times to calm his breath, he managed to continue. "You know, I … I never told you how much I love you. I couldn't have done it. Something always prevented me from doing so. Or someone."

Chip cast a very expressive glance at Dale who quickly pretended these words related to anyone else but him. "But, you know, now it seems to me it was for the best. And I consider it my duty and my debt to tell you, that you aren't obliged to stay with us."

Gadget froze, the smile slipped off her face. _I must have misheard, just like in the workshop_ she decided. _He couldn't have said that, he simply _couldn't_ have said that!_

"Sorry, Chip, I think I misheard…" she said, slightly slurring the words.

"No, Gadget, everything's correct. You know, I used to think that all this is forever. That this won't end, that I've got nowhere to hurry, that I still have time to do everything. But now I realized that it's not like that. Our lives can end at any given moment; end in a fraction of a second. Only your dream, only that sign from above saved us today. If it hadn't been for it, neither I nor Dale would have been standing here, and—and I realized that you can't postpone anything for tomorrow, for one day it won't come. Nothing can be postponed, nothing at all. Neither deeds nor feelings, which are more important."

He took another breath and it was as if a great burden was lifted as he spoke. "Gadget, we—I have no right to restrain you. Please, understand me correctly, if you stay with us … with me … I'll be the happiest chipmunk in the world!"

"Me too!" added Dale.

"See—" she started to answer.

"But, Gadget, listen to us!" Chip continued. "You mustn't sacrifice your future for us. You deserve much more. You are a genius, a great engineer! You know and can make so much. And, besides…" Chip sighed again, trying to select the most appropriate words. "Besides, we … we are so … different. Too different. And I'm absolutely sure that some day, early or late, you'll meet someone who'll become a firm support and rejoice for you. And a great and loving father for your children."

"But, Chip, Dale!" Gadget muttered in trembling voice. "Friends… I—I don't need anyone but you! Please believe me!"

"We believe you, Gadget," Dale answered instead. He came up to Gadget and took her arm. "But you should listen to Chip. He's right, you know."

_Ohmigosh, and Dale too! What happened to them? Why?_

"Guys, are you … are you alright? What happened to you? Why? What happened? Why are you doing this…?"

"Gadget, we wish you only good, believe us," Chip said.

Gadget turned around and, barely moving her unbending legs, went up to the door but, having grabbed the knob, stopped. There was one more variant. She didn't want to do it, but apparently it was her last chance.

She turned back to the chipmunks and asked in the calmest voice she was capable of now, "You remember Sparky?"

"Yes, we do," Chip nodded.

"Sure!" Dale confirmed.

"He went to the hockey match. He was in the first sector. He's here, in the hospital. Maybe I should visit him. Ask how he is."

It was very foul play on her part. She remembered how the guys treated Sparky. But she just had no other options left.

"Certainly, Gadget, go see him!" Chip agreed.

"I'm sure he'll feel much better!" Dale added.

And Gadget knew it was the end. She sobbed shortly to herself and, her head lowered down, exited the room. The chipmunks just stood there, saying nothing, and looked at the door closed behind her.

Chip was first to break the silence. "She's the ideal. Right, Dale?"

"Yes, Chip," his friend nodded. "She's simply an angel."

"She's too good for us. We don't deserve her."

"Know what, Chip, speak for yourself! She never liked you, that's for sure! She needs an intelligent, witty, thoughtful and talented guy who will respect her individuality, independence and intelligence, and not a country bumpkin like you!" Dale's voice was harsh, but there was sorrow in it, too. He walked up to the small table and started sorting the press-clippings scattered over it into neat stacks. It was so out of his character that there couldn't be any doubt of his disappointment and depression being truly boundless. Only the rustle of shifting paper could be heard for some time, and then Chip spoke again.

"How do you think, she and Sparky…" Chip began.

"Great couple, where I'm standing!" Dale's answer was loud and quick—or even too loud and too quick, for that matter. "He's a perfect match for her! He's intelligent, good-looking! He can understand what she thinks, talks and writes! More than half of it, at the very least!"

"Yes, you're right." Chip slowly fetched a photograph folded in half from his inner pocket. Her photograph. The one he secretly altered from their group shot a long time ago, but let Dale believe that she personally gave it to him and laughed quietly at Dale's face at the moment. But now it wasn't funny at all…

_--_

"_Look, Sparky! It's Gadget, remember? You wouldn't hurt Gadget, would you? You wouldn't hurt someone you like, would you?"_

_--_

His words, addressed to Sparky approaching them with sparkling wires atilt. There, in the City Bank, he thought it was a good way to have an influence on the rat-scientist and pull him out of his hypnotic trance. At that time everything turned out in the best way possible. And no one could ever imagine that his words would turn out being truly prophetic.

"Dale, tell me, why life is so cruel? Why we're chipmunks and she's a field mouse? Why is the nature so unfair, Dale?"

"Don't know, Chip. I've never thought about it."

"I would have been very surprised if—" Chip wanted to issue a sarcastic comment but just sighed sorrowfully instead, shoving the photograph back and waved the way forward. "Maybe we should return to Ice-Dome, what do you think? Maybe they need us there. Let's catch an electrocar to the ambulance and—"

"Yeah, Chip, let's go!" Dale nodded his agreement. "Besides, this hospital environment becomes more and more depressing the longer you stay."

"You know, for me too," Chip said. He came up to the door and gently touched the knob, still holding the warmth of Gadget's paw. "Me too."

**13**

Gadget slowly walked through the hospital, clenching the collar of her jump suit with her right paw. Most of all she wanted to wake up and find out it was just a terrifying dream. But everything was real — the noisy corridor, crowds of patients, the strong scent of disinfectant sprayed heavily over the building. Several times she thought she heard Chip and Dale's voices in the surrounding hum and she quickly looked back hoping that this nightmare would dispel, and they would run up to her and embrace like before.

They wouldn't have to say anything; she would understand everything without a word. She was willing to give up everything just to be by their side again. But they weren't there, and she continued her slow journey along the path of sorrow. When someone shouted something salutatory or applauded, she just waved a bit. When she was approached with words of gratitude for saving someone's relative, she just nodded and, having said something like "sorry I'm in a hurry", and walked on.

Very soon the entire hospital knew that Master Gadget was in distress. Nobody knew whom exactly she lost, there were many variants. Somebody thought she lost her father or mother, somebody — brother or sister, somebody — her beloved one.

But all of them were mistaken.

Because in fact she lost everything.

Having locked up the workshop door, Gadget sat behind the working table and clutched her head. Once again she was alone in the clinking emptiness, just like on the first horrible Saturday. But everything was even worse now, for mourning over dead friends is one thing and feeling rejected by them absolutely another.

"Golly, why? Why? For what? For what!" she kept on saying through the tears. "What have I done? What's wrong? Where's my fault? Why? Why!"

She called to mind every single event of this day, but couldn't find a reason. Her friends remained the same. She managed to prevent Dale's emotional break-down. She managed to prevent Chip from falling into the abyss. The Gyrotank she had hastily modified before the hockey match protected his body, and her letter protected his soul. He said so himself.

_--_

"_The Gyrotank got slightly damaged, though, but that's nothing. Your letter snatched me out of the darkness. Saved me. Helped me to feel myself alive. Dale can say the same about your letter to him, am I right, Dale?"_

_--_

_GOLLY…!_

Gadget started shaking. She felt chilly, and it was as if an electric current was running through her body. She sat there, rolled into a tight ball and stared vacantly right in front of her with her wide-open eyes, piercing space and time and going deeper and deeper into the past, which seemed so happy before.

Was all this really the result of this one day?

The waterfall of memories poured down on her once again. But these memories were quite different from the ones she reminisced 'the day before yesterday'…

_--_

"_Well, that didn't work. Why didn't it work? It should have worked! Oh, nothing I do works. Does that mean that if I did something that shouldn't work it would work, or does it mean I'm a failure? Tell me, Chip. I can take it! Am I a failure?" _

"_Uh, Gadget, can we talk about this later?"_

_--_

But Chip had never answered this question. Directly, that is. But indirectly…

_--_

"_And what about the fallen-off details?"_

"_Your crazy inventions could hurt somebody!"_

"_She said 'should'?!"_

"_Don't bother. From here on, I'm walkin'!"_

_--_

No, that's not Chip. That was Dale…

But they've just said so many good, warm words to her.

She smiled bitterly at her own thoughts. 'Yesterday' Chip-Vader said many good, warm and right words, too. But in the end they turned out being just a screen for cold, soulless counting.

"Golly…" the mouse whispered. As if the scales fell from her eyes, she saw everything so vividly and clearly like never before. Now Chip and Dale's behavior looked like it was absolutely natural. Even more so, it was the one and only possible outcome.

_I am the monster._

_The real monster._

During all these years her inventions so many times endangered their lives it was nigh impossible to count. But she was too carried away with the machines and, in her naiveté', used to consider self-evident that her friends just forgave all her miscalculations, breakdowns and crashes. But that wasn't the case.

They just pretended doing so, but in fact their patience was running out, and today, after her letters, they gave way completely. Today she overstepped all the limits and sent them to their sure death. She sent Chip to sector 3, where he only miraculously escaped from under the falling debris; and Dale — across the foundation pit, and he stayed alive by a fluke, too. And all the warm words she had written in the letters were just colorful wrappers. Something like a ledger-bait.

_OH MY…_

Tearing the goggles off her head, Gadget hurled them across the room. Then she wiped off the toolbox from the table, covered her face with her palms and burst out sobbing. It was too much for her to bear. Her whole life turned out being a house of cards she made up and lived in, sincerely believing that everything was going on the way she fancied.

She was so blind!

Today's joint hockey match review alone was quite enough to comprehend that all this time she was an irritant, catalyst of destructive processes. Because of her, Chip and Dale constantly quarreled, fought, and today nearly crippled one another! And she just shrugged her shoulders, looking at their brawls, without any idea of what was going on. Chip and Dale had this idea, though. They just couldn't bring themselves to say it with good intention not to insult her somehow, the poor orphan they picked up in the old broken bomber.

They have gone through so much because of her.

_OHMIGOSH…_

Those compact discs in Dale's room!

'The day before yesterday' she decided for some reason that those discs were the evidence that Dale wasn't indifferent towards her and that he had rejected Foxglove's love in due time. But now everything became clear. Dale didn't turn Foxglove down. She left him instead. All because of her. And the disks with the songs dedicated to the broken heart and bitterness of parting were in fact his memory of the beloved bat.

"Forgive me, Dale…" the mouse whispered and sank into loud blubber again. That's when she heard the knock at the door.

"Gadget-luv, are you there?" Monterey Jack's loud voice sounded, muted by the door and her sobbing. "Dear, say somethin'! Nurse Mildred told me ya went here!"

"LEAVE, MONTY!" Gadget shouted with all her lung power and dropped her head on the table. He mustn't approach her! He must keep away from her if he wants to live! Run for his life, save himself.

With a loud crack the workshop door flew off its hinges.

"Who called fo' 'help!' in here?" the strongmouse asked, barging into the room, and terror stricken darted to the mouse shaking with sobs.

"GADGET LUV! DEAR!" he yelled, grabbing her by shoulders and turning to himself. "What's with ya?! What happened?! Who dared to insult ya?! Just tell me, I'll flay the hide off 'im! Tell me, please!"

"Monty…" Gadget murmured at last, and then the words started pouring out. "Chip … Dale … I can't live without them! They are the best! They are the dearest to me! I won't live without them! I … I …"

She wasn't able to select the right word to describe the feeling overwhelming her right away. Though she knew this word very well. And knew this feeling lived inside her through all these years.

"I LOVE THEM, MONTY!" Gadget almost shouted her head off and buried her face in the giant's chest. The Australian's severe face became smoothed out, anxiety gave way to tenderness.

"Gadget, lass. But that's great! It's wonderful! You mustn't cry but be happy!"

"No, Monty!" Gadget wept. "They'll be better without me. I'm a threat for them. I'm a monster. I'm their deadliest enemy! They almost killed one another today because of me! They constantly quarrel because of me! They almost died today because of me!"

By the time she uttered everything she had convinced herself of, Monterey Jack was boiling. His face grew crimson, eyes became bloodshots, and moustache stood on end.

"GADGET, LUV!" he roared. "What horrible things you're sayin'!! Who suggested it?! What devil incarnate told this to ya?! Fat Cat?! Capone?! WHO?! Just tell me, I'll make a chop splints outta him!!"

"No, Monty, don't. It's them. They told me."

"Who 'they'? What 'they'?"

"Chip and Dale…"

"WHAT?! It can't be, Gadget! You must 'ave misunderstood somethin'!"

"Oh, Monty, please! I got it all. Absolutely all!"

Monty embraced and reassuringly caressed the shivering mouse's head. She cuddled up to him closer, and they for a very long time they sat there in silence broken only by slow and regular ticking of the alarm clock and Gadget's sobs. Little by little they grew quieter, her shivering subsided, her breathing became steadier.

Having waited until she calmed down more or less, Monty asked quietly, "Gadget-luv, please, tell me everythin'. From the very beginnin'."

And she started to tell. At first faintly, slowly and unwillingly, then louder and louder, faster and faster, trying to free herself as fast as possible from the words burning her heart like hot brands. When she fell silent and buried her face in his sweater again, Monterey Jack thoughtfully combed his moustache and said softly.

"Well, well, lass. You didn't understand anything. You missed the most important part though."

"What do you mean, Monty?" Gadget asked, her eyes red with worry and exhaustion.

"They love you, Gadget! They can't live without you! They'll go through fire and water for ya! All this time you were for them like a light in the window, like the sun in the sky, like—I just dunno what's more to say! It's only because of you they're still friends! Do you really think that their friendship would hold on for so long under usual circumstances? No, I assure you! They would've inevitably busted up and parted a long time ago! But love for you held 'em together and keeps on holdin'. Yes, they're jealous about you, sometimes too jealous, but they feel very bad without you! While you were perennially sitting in yer workshop, the guys were plainly frightful to look at, trust me!"

"Even if it's really so, they don't need me anymore."

Monty shook his head in disagreement.

"What're ya talkin' about, dear? Certainly they do! And these yer letters helped them to fulfill their calling — to save the lives! And they would be happy if you stay, you've said that yourself! But the point is that this can only be your choice. Only yours and nobody else's. They understood it and, I assure ya, will accept it whatever it'll be."

Monty fell silent. Gadget was silent too, trying to digest everything she had heard. He went through all the words Chip and Dale had said today, and through everything they had said and done during all these years.

"You … you really think so, Monty? Is it true?"

"Certainly, lass! Have I ever lied to ya?"

Gadget unwillingly gave a start. Monty word for word repeated the phrase of Chip-Vader, which he said before sending her to Dale. She raised her head and looked at the old friend, trying to perceive the slightest changes in his character. But Monterey Jack was all the same. He hadn't changed a bit through the years of being a Rescue Ranger. Well, maybe put on some weight… The Australian smiled to her, and this warm smile finally convinced her that everything was alright. And all of it was the truth.

"I'm very bad at feelings," she said. "I've got no problems with inventions, but with feelings—"

"Well, the part about inventions was a _slight_ exaggeration," Monty winked, "but the rest, as for me, I agree!"

Gadget laughed and jokingly beat her little fists against his belly. Monty burst into laughter too and they hugged again.

"I dunno Monty what would I do without you," Gadget whispered. "You saved me. Saved me from myself."

"And you saved me from that bloomin' water cannon. So we're quits with ya!"

"We are the Rescue Rangers, after all. You know, Monty, I'm so glad you misheard 'help!'"

"Wha' can I say, Gadgie. I've got no complaints 'bout my ears. But when someone's shouting 'leave!' from behind the locked door, it means that this someone needs immediate help! That's the secret!"

Gadget looked up her old friend, a knowing smile in place now. "So you're one heck of a cheater!"

"I am what I am, Gadget. But, ya know, you shouldn't dismiss Chip's words. He's got a point, ya know…"

_--_

"_You are a great engineer, you know so much! Give or take any field! Engineering! Aviary science! You can easily get a PhD! And not just a single one! Become a professor! I can arrange everything! The brand new lab is opening at MIT! One word from you and…"_

_--_

Sparky.

_--_

"_Please, Master Gadget, I'm greatly honored to speak with you! What can I do for you? Oh, and besides, I'm happy beyond all measure that you know my name! It's encouraging, you know! For you — everything you say! You can call me just Mitch…"_

_--_

Mitchell.

_--_

"_Please, understand me correctly, if you stay with us … with me … I'll be the happiest chipmunk in the world!"_

"_Me too!"_

_--_

Chip and Dale.

_But the point is that this can only be your choice. Only yours and nobody else's…_

"No, Monty. I wouldn't go away from them. I belong here; my place is by their side! I know it. I feel it. I won't leave them. Ever!"

"Well," Monty answered after a short pause. "Then I'm pretty sure they'll be alright!"

**14**

Gadget woke up as usual. That is, at 7 AM, in her room, wearing her nightgown and covered with her blanket—which was impossible given that yesterday she fell asleep in the Small Central Hospital, on the couch in the closet allotted to house her field workshop.

It was growing scarier and scarier.

_But maybe, somehow…_

Heading for the kitchen, Gadget already smelled the familiar cheese scent. She went downstairs and looked at the calendar. It read 'Saturday. June 13th'. Just like 'yesterday', 'the day before yesterday' and 'the day before that'.

And at the oven, his back turned to the door, stirring cheese soup with a ladle in his hand stood Monterey Jack.

"Good morning…" Gadget guardedly uttered the test phrase.

Monty froze, spat three times over each shoulder, and put out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror-scrubbed frying pan hanging right in front of him. Then he grabbed some odd things from the table, did a couple of elaborate gestures and only after all of this turned to the doorway.

"Gadget-luv, you mustn't say … Gadget, where are you?"

But Gadget wasn't there. Having understood everything, she didn't wait for Monty to finish all his rituals, left the kitchen and went upstairs, to the hall. There she sat down on the sofa and stared vacantly at the invisible spot on the wall.

_What the heck is going on here?!_

Chip's transformation.

Dale's emotional break-down.

Monty's paralysis.

Oby's death.

She prevented this! Didn't let it happen! What, what else must she do?! Sure, she can do it over and over, she can work even faster and harder, but no matter what she might do or how many various pieces of medical equipment she'll build, she won't be able to save everybody. And neither Chip, nor Dale, nor Monty, nor Zipper, nor the entire Small Central Hospital's personnel will ever manage to do it!

_Alright, there's no point in sitting and staring. If that's indeed my mission, I will do it again_. Back to equipment gathering, vehicle upgrading, restoring the Ranger Wing's engines and the Ranger Plane's overhaul…

_Plane…_

It was at that moment when she literally physically felt the turning of the anchor of some giant relay, which closed previously unused contacts, making the current run through the adjacent circuit and power off the bright lightbulb of pure inspiration. And everything became as clear as noonday.

The whole point was neither in her friends nor in some unfamiliar dog-rescuer.

You really can't save everyone.

If you deal with consequences.

But every consequence has its cause.

"…**As it was reported earlier today, at 5:23 PM Pacific Time, a Boeing 747 air liner, North Pacific Avia Flight 10031 crashed down on the Ice-Dome Sports Arena. The flight originated in Lima, Peru with an intermediate landing at our city's National Airport. At 5:05 PM the plane took off en route to Sea-City…"**

She knows the time.

She knows the place.

It remained only to find a method.

_And then tomorrow will come!_

_It should come, at least…_

**End of Part 3**


	5. Part 4 Tomorrow act I

Part 4

**Part 4**

**Tomorrow? **

1

Four slowly rotating blades of the old ceiling fan idly kneaded the air, nowhere equal to the task of bringing invigorating coolness into the room. Sergeant Spinelli shook the air conditioner's remote controls for the hundredth time but it never showed any signs of life and the policeman hurled the console in frustration into the bottom drawer of his desk. Those darned bureaucrats from the maintenance section!

On Thursday he submitted a repair request but two days weren't enough for them to draw up all the invoices, and now the technicians won't come before Monday! They are comfortable there, on the ground floor on the shaded side. And what should he do? His head was already pounding after a very intensive week, and now this heat was simply killing him.

Spinelli reluctantly tapped his computer's keyboard but the inspiration to write a report didn't come and he stood up from his desk with a heavy sigh and went to the corridor for an iced coffee. The usual chaos and mess reigned in the police station and nobody noticed the ceiling fan stopping for a brief moment as a folded sheet of paper slowly descending onto the sergeant's desk, held by a metallic clamp.

When the paper touched the table's surface, Gadget pressed a button on the handle of her electro-auto-gripper, powered by an electronic watch battery. The clamp opened and the precious cargo remained lying right in the center of the desk. Why hadn't she thought to inform the authorities of the upcoming catastrophe earlier? Well, no matter. The policemen will read her message, raise the alarm and 'today' the plane won't take off. There just weren't any other variants!

But on a day like this everything was possible.

Spinelli ran back to his desk, hastily put the coffee mug on the first sheet of paper he came across and wiped the sweat from his brow again. Then he moved the mug along with a makeshift napkin to the edge of the table and began to industriously scribble the report, which the captain reminded him about in the corridor.

Terrified, Gadget looked at her letter, squeezed by the coffee mug. It was some ill luck, no doubt. _I have to do something fast_! _I can't sit here waiting for Spinelli to finish his coffee_! Stopping the fan one more time, she picked the electro-auto-gripper up and carefully hooked the edge of the plastic mug. Lifting it up a bit, she slowly dragged it to the edge of the table, praying for Spinelli not to notice. This time she got lucky, because the sergeant was too carried away with his work to see the strange things going on around him. And when he finished the paragraph and reached for the mug, it was already lying on the floor surrounded by the pool of spilled coffee.

"What's going on with everything today?" Spinelli exclaimed. "The air conditioner, this darned report, and now the coffee got spilled!"

He picked the mug up and glanced around, looking for some kind of rag. Almost immediately Gadget's paper caught his eye. Spinelli grabbed it and bent down to blot the pool. Gadget nearly swooned at this sight, but suddenly Spinelli's hand stopped an inch away from the brown spot.

"Wait a minute, what the heck is this?" Spinelli mumbled, twisting the paper with his fingers. Then he unfolded it and began carefully reading big, slightly lopsided block-letters. Gadget rubbed her forehead, relieved.

**Today, at 5:23 PM, Boeing 747 Northpacific Avia Flight 10031 Lima—Sea-City will crash into the Ice-Dome Sports Arena.**

Spinelli read the misshapen letters again and again. His hand reached for the phone and the mouse jumped with joy. _Great! Now the sergeant will call the threat in and there won't be any catastrophe!_

The policeman's hand came to a halt in the air, barely touching the phone receiver.

"MULDOON!" he shouted. The patrolman sitting on the chair in the corner sprang up, spilling his coffee on his trousers. Seeing this, Spinelli immediately felt much better. This day wasn't unlucky for him alone. And a trouble divided in half is only half as troublesome.

"Yes, sergeant!"

"Was Murphy from Vice here today?"

"He was, sir! Wanted to see you very much, but then said it's alright and left. Made me wonder why he was so happy."

"Thanks, Muldoon. And why are you still here? When did your and Kirby's shift begin, huh?"

"I'm already there, Sergeant!" The policeman ran out of the room like a bullet. Spinelli hemmed, looking at Gadget's note, then got up and went to the paper shredder near the bookshelf.

"This Murphy will finish me someday with his jokes," he muttered. "Put a rat in my drawer. Stuffed my water cooler, making it splash me. And now he tries to get me charged with making a false report! No way, Murphy! Well, I should have known it from the start! Just think of it – to include not only random flight number and time, but the exact place of the crash, lacking street address only! What a prophet! I always suspected he isn't that bright as everybody thinks he is, and now I know it exactly!" With this thought he grinned to himself and feed the letter to the gluttonous device.

Gadget sat on the fan and stared wide-eyed at her letter disappearing in the shredder's maw. _They didn't believe me! Golly, what I was counting on, in the first place? When even my closest friends don't believe my story on the spot, what can I expect from the police?_

But what now?

"Well," the inventor said to herself, "if they don't believe me, I'll do it on my own."

International Airport. 5:05 PM. Flight NA10031 Lima—Sea-City.

_I've got to go._

2

The International Airport looked like a giant ant hill swarming with people and aircraft. That wasn't strange, for it was considered one of the busiest air terminals of the world. The airport functioned like a precise and reliable mechanism — at least, so it seemed at first sight. But the little mouse in the blue jumpsuit sitting on the roof of the terminal at the base of the huge letters forming the name of the city knew that it wasn't the case, and something here was about to go terribly wrong.

Upon returning home from the police station, Gadget convinced her friends to stay home 'again', then hastily repaired the Ranger Wing 'anew' to make it here. Now her eyes were glued on the gigantic Boeing 747 wearing the green-blue logo of Northpacific Avia, connected to the airport building by a long telescopic corridor.

An hour and a half ago the plane arrived from Lima and now, after some passengers disembarking and others coming on board, was ready to continue her journey further north to Sea-City. Through her binoculars, Gadget saw the last few people board the ill-fated airliner. Someone was traveling alone, another together with his family and children, and each new face made her heart clench and simultaneously reinforced her determination to go to the last degree to do everything she could to prevent the catastrophe.

But first she needed to know what exactly would happen to the aircraft. According to her observations, something truly incredible had to happen, because all the time the plane was loading a whole team of technicians were puttering around it, examining each and every square inch of the fuselage. They found nothing, as the chief technician received his reports from his subordinates and they walked away. All right, then, it was time for her entry.

5:05 PM — the telescopic corridor pulled away from the airliner's hull and the plane began to drive off slowly, taxiing on the road leading to the runway. Gadget lifted the Wing into the air and flew after the plane. Despite her enormous size, the plane looked very elegant and graceful. At first glance it seemed this bulky thing couldn't fly in principle. At second glance, that nothing could prevent it from flying as far as anywhere.

--

"An aircraft crashed there, mind you. It's such a big thing, you know? With wings. It flies. Sometimes poorly, just like today, for example…"

--

Vader, at the square around Ice-Dome. 'The first' Saturday.

_Why will you fly so poorly today? Why will you crash, killing thousands of people? Why?_ Gadget mentally asked the airliner, crawling beneath. But the plane was silent and continued taxiing to the very end of the airport's longest runway, from where she would begin her last run.

The mouse inventor turned on the radio receiver and picked up the signal of the International Airport's air traffic control. The steady development of communication technologies and the growing miniaturization allowed her to equip the Ranger Wing with a scanner to listen in on police and other official frequencies. Gadget as usual in a fit of enthusiasm stuffed into the receiver everything it could contain and even slightly more just in case it would come in handy some day. And now was that day.

The moment the Boeing reached the end of the runway and started making slow u-turn, Gadget directed the Wing alongside it at maximum speed. The Wing's speed couldn't approach that of a turbo-jet Boeing, and Gadget had to do her utmost not to lose the sight of the airliner. After all, she didn't need to fly after her as far as Sea-City. Then she heard the talk between the plane and the control tower:

"**Tower Control, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Runway Twenty-Eight. Ready to take-off. Over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, this is Tower Control. You have take-off clearance. I repeat, you have take-off clearance. Over."**

"**Tower control, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Acknowledged. Taking off."**

With a deafening roar, the winged colossus darted by and took off. Despite Gadget flying the Wing at a decent distance from the runway she would have become deaf if it hadn't been for her helmet made out of a tennis ball, in which Gadget had stuffed additional wadding for better insulation. She pulled the yoke and the Wing headed after the speeding plane. As he plane climbed, she took off her helmet and fetched binoculars. Now she could hear the conversation on the radio, still going:

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower Control. Your echelon is twenty thousand. Repeat, echelon twenty thousand. Over."**

"**Tower Control, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Acknowledged. Twenty thousand."**

The landing gear disappeared inside the fuselage and airliner started climbing. _I won't be able to stay with her for too long _Gadget realized, keeping her eyes on the plane. It had to happen soon. They were already approaching the city limits, but the Wing was rapidly falling behind. Gadget set the binoculars for maximum magnification, but it did little help. She wouldn't see anything soon.

"**Tower Control, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Passing six thousand. Fuel pressure indicator for engine number three giving some strange readings. Over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower Control. Understood. Problems with indicator. How serious is the problem, over?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Difficult to tell. All other systems are working properly, over."**

_What's that?! Is that it…?_

Gadget looked closely at the aircraft's right interior engine which she thought started to move. No, everything seems all right. Must be because of her eyes growing tired…

_NO, THIS IS IT!_

The right interior engine started vibrating, then tilted up and right.

And with a blinding flash, it tore off from the wing.

But that wasn't the end. It was only a beginning.

The torn off engine didn't fall to the ground right away. It continued to function at full take-off power for some time and went on flying forward. It even outran the wing for a fraction of a second and only then fell down—down and right, hitting the remaining jet engine with its pylon protruding like a shark's fin and tearing it out from the wing.

"Golly…" Gadget whispered, frozen like a statue as she looked at the Boeing's severely damaged right wing, which lost several panels from its leading edge and three flaps on the rear. The complete loss of thrust on the aircraft's right side caused her to instantly bank and start losing altitude.

"**Mayday, mayday, mayday! It's November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one! We've got an emergency!"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, acknowledged. Emergency situation. What's your status?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, full loss of power in engines number three and four! I repeat, full loss of power in engines three and four! Total loss of attitude control, banking sharply, losing altitude, over!"**

"You don't have the engines at all!" Gadget shouted as if someone could hear her. And nobody did. But she just couldn't stand it. The shouting of three hundred passengers distinctly heard in the background of the Boeing pilot's voice echoed through her head, and faces she'd seen with her binoculars appeared before her eyes.

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower. Can you return, over?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Banking at fifteen degrees, skidding to the right. Trying to fly on two remaining engines. Situation critical, over!"**

"**Tower Cntrol. I repeat, can you return, over?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Rudders functional. Wait…"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Over!"**

"**Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. According to stewardess, engines three and four are missing. I repeat, engines three and four are missing! Right wing is damaged, repeat, right wing is damaged, over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower. Acknowledged. Engines three and four missing, right wing damaged. Can you control the plane?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Plane's under control. Repeat, plane's under control. Sharp turns could be a problem. Return to the airport not possible. Find something along our heading."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower. Acknowledged. Maplemont and Bridgewater are ready to accept you. Repeat, Maplemont and Bridgewater are ready to accept you."**

"**Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. We request Bridgewater. Repeat, we choose Bridgewater for emergency landing."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower. I'm transferring you to Bridgewater. Hold on there. Good luck. Over and out."**

"**Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Thanks. Over and out."**

"Darn, that's another frequency! Where is it? Where?" Gadget threw the co-pilot seat back and fetched a folded paper from the compartment hidden under it. It contained a summary table of the service frequencies her receiver was capable of picking up. She found the frequency for Bridgewater Airport and quickly readjusted the receiver. A new voice sounded over the speaker.

"…**three-one, this is Bridgewater Tower. Do you copy? Over."**

"**Bridgewater, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Copy you clear, over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater. Runway Eleven is clear for you to land. You should change your heading to two-two-zero, repeat, heading two-two-zero. Descend to four thousand feet. Surface wind zero-eight-zero at twenty-two knots. Waiting for acknowledgement. Over."**

"**Bridgewater, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Acknowledged. Heading two-two-zero, altitude four thousand."**

From Gadget's position the airplane in distress was just a little sparkling spot, but thanks to her receiver she felt as if she was in the cockpit. The passengers apparently calmed down by crew's confident actions, since she didn't hear them anymore. Everything was going as planned. The pilots controlled the plane and were heading to the nearest airport for an emergency landing. Emergency situations like this happened multiple times. Aircrafts landed having lost one or two engines. There were even times when planes landed with no thrust at all. What's wrong here? What happened, or will happen?

"**Bridgewater, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. We are at four thousand. Over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater here. We see you, repeat, we see you. Cross the localizer and turn to the heading two-zero-zero, repeat, after localizer heading two-zero-zero. Descend to twenty-five hundred, repeat, twenty-five hundred. The corridor is clear. You are cleared to land on Runway Eleven. Emergency vehicles are ready and waiting. Over."**

_So many people are working to save them _Gadget mused. As if with her own eyes she saw the air traffic controllers on the tower putting all other incoming planes on stand-by. Hundreds of telephones rang and scores of sirens wailed. Firemen wore silver protective suits as they ran to their vehicles. Green-white emergency trucks darted off, almost knocking down the garage gates, rushing at full speed across the airport. Columns of ambulances gathered from nearby hospitals, driving along the highway to Bridgewater, and filling the neighborhood with strident whining.

And only she alone, a little mouse in a small aircraft flying over the city, knew it was all in vain. That they won't meet the plane at the airport. That this Boeing will crash several miles away from Runway Eleven.

_BUT WHY? WHY?!_

"**Bridgewater, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one here. Passing three thousand feet and descending. Crossed the localizer, turning to heading two-zero-zero. Over."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater. You have around ten miles to go to touchdown. What's your speed?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Altitude twenty-five hundred. Speed two-eight-zero, repeat, speed two-eight-zero. Preparing for landing. Minor problem with flaps, banking five degrees to the right…"**

Speed. Flaps. Bank.

_Golly, that's it_…

A whirlwind of schematics, diagrams and formulas appeared before Gadget's mind's eye. Lift vector. Air pressure. Wing section. Wing surface area.

The right wing's surface area!

Separation and collision of two engines caused the loss of several panels on its leading edge along with some of its flaps. As a result, its area was diminished substantially and it could no longer produce enough lift to hold the liner in the air. That is, it could at high speed, at cruising speed. But to land safely the plane must decrease her speed and lower the gear…

"**Bridgewater, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one! Altitude two thousand! Speed two-six-zero, repeat, two-six-zero! Banking at ten degrees to the right and increasing! Can't straighten out, can't straighten out!"**

Now Gadget knew why. Despite the crew's selfless and professional actions, despite all the efforts of ground services she knew why this plane crashed instead of landing at Bridgewater.

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater here! You are off the glidepath! Return to the glidepath!"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Banking thirty-five degrees to the right and increasing! We're losing altitude, repeat we're losing altitude!"**

Gadget moved her hands to cover her face and dropped the head on the yoke. She was shaking feverishly. It was unbearable. She knew the pilots were doing everything they could. Twist the yokes performing plainly fantastic manipulations with remaining empennage to avoid entering the fatal spin. Feed maximum power to the remaining engines in order to compensate for the lack of lift on the right with speed and, having returned the plane back on course, try to land again.

But everything was for naught.

By reducing the speed to 260 knots they passed the point of no return and now their actions only worsened the situation. It wasn't the pilots' fault. They'd tried every single variant, both possible and impossible. But to land this plane was beyond their capabilities. Because she couldn't land. She could only crash.

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater! Can you control the plane?"**

Shouts of the passengers came over the radio. They knew something had gone very wrong. Impartial words coming over the voice notification system "Raise all flaps. Raise all flaps…" And against this background the constant and absolutely calm voice of the captain already having no doubt that his plane was doomed.

"**Bridgewater, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Banking forty-five degrees to the right and increasing. Plane is uncontrollable, plane is uncontrollable. We are falling, repeat, we are falling. We'll try to do everything we can to splash her in the river. Tell my wife and children I love them. Over and out."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Bridgewater. Do you copy?! Acknowledge, November-Alpha! November-Alpha, do you hear me!"**

Nothing. White noise. Crackling emptiness…

The Boeing's crew did everything they could to drive the falling plane away from the densely populated city districts—to land her on the water, thus minimizing the losses on the ground. And they, holding the yokes turned to their limits with hands aching from overexertion, directed the plane into the empty space away from the rows of sky-piercing office buildings crowded with blissfully ignorant people.

But today was indeed a very unlucky day. And they happened to fly right where, encircled by a dense park, the silver mass of the Ice-Dome Sports Arena was sparkling in the rays of the summer sun.

--

"…According to unconfirmed sources, there were no survivors among the 328 passengers and crew of Flight 10031. The victim count on the ground is being verified, but it's already clear that the total casualties are estimated in the thousands…"

--

Gadget looked at the thick puffs of black smoke rising over the city and saw the faces. Their faces. Dozens of faces—businessmen and smiling faces of children and their parents. Worried faces of those returning home and sad faces of those leaving their homes. She turned the receiver off with a trembling hand but was still hearing their voices and shouts. And she knew she would be hearing them for a very long time.

The wail of sirens of fire trucks and ambulances rushing to Ice-Dome sounded from everywhere. With one last glance at the smoke, the mouse turned the Ranger Wing in the direction of the city park. She had to hurry; her friends must be setting out to Ice-Dome right now. Before she left, she had prepared all the needed equipment and left a note with instructions of where to take what. In spite of Gadget feeling it wasn't the last Saturday the thirteenth, she wasn't going to let anything run itself. Everything could end just as unexpectedly as it had started.

3

Her visit to the International Airport on 'the next day' demanded more thorough preparations, because 'this time' her task was much harder. She had to find out the cause of right inner engine's separation. It was impossible to do it watching the airliner from a distance, for once again she was interested in causes, not consequences.

When the doomed plane appeared at the end of the taxiway, Gadget got out of the Wing she had landed on top of one of the airport's landing guideposts, aircraft's landing gear straddling on either side of the post. She got down on the ground and, using a pneumatic sprayer made from a modified nail gun, covered the bottom of the Wing's landing gear with a thick layer of her superglue.

On 'the very first' Saturday she had time to test several variants of her glue and find the best. 'Today' she didn't need to waste time and effort. This glue could hold almost anything—it was entirely capable of keeping her plane under the Boeing's wing. It should be capable, at least. The most important thing was not to forget about the glue and retract the landing gear by force of habit. In order to avoid this, Gadget stuck a small note over the landing gear's control button and wrote 'NO!' with bold black capital letters on it. But it was just a mere trifle in comparison with her other innovations.

Gadget got back to the cockpit and put on the helmet specially designed for 'today's' operation. It was almost three times thicker than 'yesterday's' model and provided absolute acoustic insulation. It was hot like in the Gyrotank in it, though, but it had a place for all the optics she could need. The helmet's optical system looked like a dense construction trestle, decorated with seemingly chaotic accumulations of various lenses. Gadget had stuck almost every magnifying glass in their headquarters on it. This way she was absolutely sure she wouldn't miss the invisible killer which managed to hide from the humans.

Lifting the Wing, she directed it along the taxiway, slowly approaching the airliner passing by. She flew as low as possible to avoid hitting the jet's backwash accidentally. Despite the aircraft's engines working at a quarter of their capacity, the power of that backwash was quite enough to blow her along with the Wing very very far away.

Once she reached the fuselage Gadget started gaining altitude and, turning the Wing upside down, adhered to the bottom of the fated wing. For a few moments she didn't turn the engines off to ensure that the glue would hold, and then proceeded to gradually decrease their power. Only when she was absolutely certain that the Wing was stuck fast, Gadget stopped the propellers, took the plunger minilauncher off her belt and shot the rope at the engine's number three pylon.

At the junction between the pylon and its wing, the mouse inventor secured herself with a help of plunger shoes and a mountaineering belt and started to examine the zone of the future break. Gadget tried one lens combination after another, but saw nothing suspicious. Everything was safe and sound, as though just from the aircraft factory's assembly hall.

_But the engine tore off! And this can't happen all of a sudden. Some signs of damage or deterioration must be present now!_ But they weren't. There was nothing…

Outside, that is.

_Sure!_ Gadget realized. _That's why nobody from the ground team saw anything! The problem is inside, under the paneling!_

But to have a look there she needed something like an X-ray device. Which means that she should either go back home and return 'tomorrow', but once armed with something like that…

Or wait for the breakage to show itself 'today'.

The Boeing reached the end of the runway and started making the U-turn. If she was going to go, she had to leave now, while the plane was still on the ground. When she takes off it will be much harder to get back to the Wing.

But she was simply afraid of put off anything for 'the next time'. _Who knows, maybe I've got only a limited number of attempts to change everything._

Gadget decided to stay. She tied ropes round herself as tight as possible and went on looking at the pylon. She heard nothing, but no helmet could suppress the monstrous vibration accompanying the engines accumulating their take-off power. Plungers and ropes stifled it somewhat, but the mouse still felt herself thrown into the proverbial concrete mixer. Everything jumped in front of her but she continued to stare hard at the pylon's foundation. Here the liner begins the run, here she's darting along the runway, and here the engines reach full power lifting the four hundred-ton airliner into the sky.

That's when it started to happen. The cracks appeared, running along the pylon's upper edge, along the very junction. Microscopic cracks, invisible to the naked eye. They lengthened, growing wider and joining together, finally forming an opening through which the mouse could peek into the pylon's interior. What she saw there terrified her. Being a technician, it was almost physically painful for her to look at it, so shocking and distressing the sight was.

The pylon's fitting was in a truly sad if not catastrophic state. The lugs and walls cracked, the fuse pins almost broke in half. The scope of metal fatigue damage from frequent overloads during take-offs and landings was startling. It seemed impossible that an airliner in such a condition could have been allowed to fly, not to mention carry passengers.

But this Boeing took off. It was quite possible that somewhere in the depths of Northpacific Avia offices in a drawer of a desk of one of those clerks responsible for their planes' technical condition a document was there, telling about the unsatisfactory results of maintenance checkup and the urgent need of engine replacement.

Quite possibly this plaintive report even had all the needed instructions written on it. One could even guess that in the hangar in Sea-City, where the engine was much easier and, what's more important, much cheaper to deliver to than to Lima, the full team of airline technicians was already waiting for this plane to carry out the urgent replacement. It didn't matter whether the head of the corresponding department had said something like "That's alright, let it fly just one more, last time…" or not. It wasn't the point. It didn't mean anything. Because this plane never reached Sea-City.

_OHMIGOSH…!_

Gadget began to hastily unbind the ropes holding her in place. She didn't know exactly how much time remained till the engines broke free, but knew it was very little. 'Yesterday' they seemed to tear off almost immediately after the take-off. She turned around and looked at the landing gear. It was retracted already.

--

"Tower control, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Passing six thousand. Fuel pressure indicator for engine number three is showing some strange readings. Over."

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Tower control. Understood. Problems with indicator. How serious is the problem, over?"

--

Having freed herself, Gadget crawled the rope to the Wing as fast as she could. She was shaken and tossed from side to side, and she would have fallen if it hadn't been for the mountaineering belt. Reaching the plane, she fastened her seat belt and pressed the button next to the one covered with the 'NO!' sign. It was time to enact an evacuation plan.

The superglue was so effective it was impossible to detach from the airliner by common means. That's why the inventor rebuilt the landing gear holders and made them separable. One press of the button would make the clips hidden in the fuselage unclench and the Wing, its landing gear left behind, would detach from the plane and go on flying all by itself.

It should have detached, but it didn't—or, more precisely, it detached partially. The forward holder opened completely and the plane moved down. But there was a problem with the rear holder. Maybe it stuck, maybe the landing gear bearings caught on something, maybe a drop of superglue from the pneumatic gun hit them. There were many possibilities. But the result was the same — the Ranger Wing remained glued to the right wing of the Boeing. A Boeing doomed to crash.

Gadget switched the engines to full power. The Wing shook, her fuselage bent, but the clip held strong and the inventor stopped the motors in order not to ruin the whole vehicle. Less than a minute remained till the catastrophe. What to do now?!

_Jump._

Tearing the co-pilot's seat belt from its sockets, Gadget stuck to the cockpit floor with her plunger shoes, unfastened her belt and tied it and two torn out halves into one long belt, which she turned into a loop and wrapped around her waist. Getting free of the plungers, she got out of her seat and held onto the back of it, facing the aircraft's tail. Then she swung back and forth and kicked the space between the rows of seats, right over the stuck clip.

The plane jolted and moved further down, but didn't separate completely. Gadget swung faster and hit harder. This time the Wing did gain its long-expected freedom, but only to start falling down, spinning madly. Gadget got spun around, the belt kinked and squeezed the wind out of her, and several lenses from her helmet fell on her face making everything around several times bigger.

The courageous inventor tried to reach the Wing's yoke, but the air flow hurled her back. And the ground was rapidly approaching.

_If only I could extend the flaps, even one of them!_ she thought, but she could reach neither the switches on the dashboard nor the levers on the wings.

With her paw she couldn't, that is.

Gadget caught hold of the board with her left leg and tried to get closer to the left side of the Wing. Then she worked to snare the cherished lever with her tail, but it seemed to have vanished into thin air.

_WHAT IF IT FELL OFF DURING DETACHMENT?!_

"Calm down, Gadget! Don't panic!" she shouted to herself.

The helmet made the voice seem strange, and this cry as if from the outside had an even better effect. She calmed down a bit. But what to do, with the houses and trees approaching from below? _They're so big because of the lenses_ she advised herself, and the fear gradually subsided. She thoroughly, with no rush, felt all over the Wing with her tail one more time and found the lever.

She pulled the to herself, but it didn't move. Gadget almost panicked again but then remembered that she was pulling it in the same direction she would if she was right-side-up. This means she must pull it to the right, the other way! And she did exactly that.

For a few seconds which seemed an eternity to her the lever didn't respond, but then abruptly moved. The Wing banked to the right and Gadget bounced on the seats and suddenly found herself behind the yoke. The hit against the seat caused every single lens to fall down over her face, and the objects below grew much closer and scarier. But the moment Gadget threw the wearisome helmet off, everything snapped back to normal. And when she extended the second flap and turned on the engines, the landscape around her immediately turned very pleasant and picturesque.

"Oh golly, that was one heck of a flight…" she mumbled, disentangling from the twisted safety belts and rubbing the sweat pouring off her forehead because of the helmet and exertion. "Maybe I should see if that's some kind of record."

Something cracked in the right engine. Gadget looked there, but it continued to function. Blades were rotating as usual. Everything worked as it should.

"Oh, nothing to worry about!" she said aloud, but the next moment, as if telling the beautiful Rescue Ranger "Dream on!" something cracked first in the left engine, then in both engines at once. After that their frames swelled and the rotors blew apart, which apparently were overstrained from the attempts to tear off the liner. The Wing started to dive sharply and right onto the busy highway she was flying over.

"That's something to worry about!" Gadget exclaimed, trying to urge the Wing away from the motorway. But today everything seemed to have rebelled against her and the steering mechanism wasn't working. Horror stricken, she stared at the cars darting below.

She'll either smash against a car's roof or fall under the wheels! Certainly she could try to land on one of the autos, but without some special binding mechanism it was impossible to stay on the slanting roof of a car driving at full speed. In this respect the Ranger Plane was much more convenient.

A thunderous horn shook Gadget out of her stupor. She jerked her head in the sound's direction and saw a distant tanker truck crawling in the outer lane. Maybe it had broken down, maybe it was carrying some special cargo, but it was moving much slower than the other cars and the roof of the truck, despite being bulged, could be used as a quite handy and reliable runway. Only a mere trifle remained — to make it to it without repeating the fate of Flight NA10031.

"Come on, come on!" Gadget shouted addressing the Ranger Wing. "Just a little bit more! Just a couple of feet! Come on!"

The Ranger Wing didn't answer, but a black cloud of exhaust suddenly shot out from the truck's funnel and it started to accelerate. Gadget quickly performed all the needed calculations and to her horror knew she wouldn't make it. By a foot, maybe half a foot, but she wouldn't reach the truck. Certainly you could always pray for some wonder to occur, though it wasn't very reasonable to set your hopes upon a wonder on a day like this.

Nevertheless, the wonder happened. A strong blast of wind coming from behind lifted the Wing slightly and literally threw the small plane on the truck's container. Gadget barely managed to react and dig her heels in the cockpit floor in order to avoid colliding with the yoke and the dashboard when the plane hit the ledge on the roof of the container and went on skimming along it. Everything around her clinked and cracked. The flashlight's glazing burst into splinters. The additional flaps fell off with a crunch.

Gadget recalled what distance the Wing had passed during the landing after the unsuccessful test of the new extra powerful engines and realized that this 'runway' was too small. That the Wing would jump along the full length of the truck and then the distorted remains with her sitting still in the cockpit would fly over the cabin and fall under the truck's wheels.

When she finally dared to open her eyes and have a look around, she didn't understand where she was at first. The trees were passing by, the sun was shining brightly and a strong scent of exhaust was in the air. _So this is what engineers' paradise looks like _a thought occurred to her. But then she realized she was still sitting in the cockpit of the Wing, reduced to rubble, which had come to a standstill on the very edge of the truck's tank with a trail of fallen off details and debris behind it.

She would have inevitably fallen off the truck if it hadn't been for two 'buts' she hadn't taken into account. The first 'but' were the ledges of the roof, which additionally slowed the plane; and the second — that the truck wasn't standing still but moving rapidly, literally driving additional plots of runway under the Wing. Neither of these circumstances alone would have been enough for a safe landing, but their combination saved the day and allowed her to survive.

Three flukes — a pattern.

'The first' Saturday. Water cannon, grass heap, Luke.

'Today'. The wind blast, ledges on the roof, trucks movement. Movement, at first slow enough to let her catch up with the truck and then fast enough to prevent her falling off it.

This was definitely worth a thorough cogitation.

_Later._

Fully exhausted, Gadget settled back on the back of the pilot's seat and looked in the direction of the city, at the thick black smoke rising out of the ruined Ice-Dome.

_The Ranger Wing is lost. Which means that there will be much fewer evacuees 'today'._

And although the rational voice of wisdom quietly but emphatically told her that this doesn't matter and 'tomorrow' would be 'today' again, her heart was still breaking.

4

She knew the place.

She knew the time.

She knew the cause.

It remained only to find a way to prevent it.

She can't warn the humans about the crash and keep the plane from taking off. They don't believe her messages.

But the take-off can be prevented without their help. For example, by forcing the engine to tear away while still on the ground. But how to do it if the pylon starts to ruin only on exposure to tremendous pressure overloads arising during the takeoff and climb? Such overloads can't be reproduced on the ground. That is, they surely can be, but in a laboratory environment and not in the middle of a runway.

What if we tried to approach it from the other side? Not reproduce the workload increase, but weaken the pylon so it would show up in an inspection?

That's interesting. But how to do it? Cut the pylon? Too long. Damage it in a faster way, for example, using dynamite? Oh yeah, make an explosion right above the engine and in the immediate proximity of the thick filled fuel tanks. Very funny…

_Think, Gadget, think…_

Let's approach from the other side once again. Not accelerate the destruction processes but, quite the contrary, slow them down. Reinforce the pylon.

With what? How? Rivet additional aluminum plates on the junction? It would take half a day and cumbersome equipment. And I only have a little more than six minutes available. It takes the Boeing exactly that long to go from the airport terminal to the beginning of the runway.

Stop, but what if we approach it from the opposite side one more time?

No, we've already concluded that destruction of the pylon will either take too much time or turn out too dangerous.

No, that's not it; there was something before that.

_What was before that…?_

There was something about the workload. That you can't reproduce the overload arising during the take-off.

So what?

Wait… wait…

The heavier workload can't be reproduced…

No, it can't…

_BUT CAN IT BE REDUCED?_

What's happening, in essence? The workload during the take-off passes from the engine to the pylon and then to the wing. But in the narrowest place, at the junction between the pylon and the wing, the fracture occurs because of metal fatigue and the pylon separates along with the engine. The cracked lugs and fuse pins can't sustain the overload and break.

_BUT WHAT IF THE LOAD IS SMALLER?_

Oh yeah, jiffy-quickly unscrew the working engine and throw the excess parts away. That's even funnier than the dynamite.

But there's something in it. There's something.

_Stop, Gadget, let's go over it from the very beginning, in order…_

The airliner takes off.

Her engines work at full power, pushing the plane forward.

2(a). The engines are held in place by the pylons.

As a result of the overload arising during takeoff and climbing, the base of the pylon doesn't stand the weight of the engine and breaks off.

It's quite possible that if the engine had been lighter, nothing would have happened and the plane would have reached Sea-City safe and sound…

But how to decrease engine's weight?

Not possible.

How to decrease the workload?

Without decreasing engine's weight, not possible.

_Stop, stop, stop!_

_I just need to look at the problem from the opposite side one more time. Or, rather, look at the other side of the problem. Not down, on the engine. But up, at the pylon's base, which carries the mass of the engine and which is too seriously weakened to hold the weight hanging on it._

BUT WHO SAYS THAT THE WEIGHT CAN HANG ON IT ONLY?

At present all the workload falls on the pylon. And it doesn't stand the test.

But what if it, the weight, falls on something besides the pylon alone?

Why do much heavier tracked vehicles go through the dirt in which much lighter wheeled cars get stuck? Because the tracks equally spread the weight of the vehicle across a wider area and the soil holds. The same must be done here, but back to front. Or, rather, upside down. Spread the weight of the engine across a wider section of the wing area and the weakened pylon will hold!

Maybe…would it hold?

IT SHOULD HOLD!

_Get to work, then!_

5

One day changed into another—again. One Saturday changed into itself. Every morning Gadget woke up at 7 AM, in her room, wearing her nightgown and covered with her blanket despite having fallen asleep 'yesterday' in the Small Central Hospital, on the couch in the closet allotted to house her field workshop. And everything started from the very beginning.

--

"Let me explain everything. You see, I had a prophetic dream."

"Had a prophetic dream? You? But ya don't believe in all this 'superstitions', do ya?"

"I didn't. But I do now."

"Gadget, I understand everything, but…don't you think that all those dreams aren't worth taking too seriously? Generally speaking."

"Please, guys, believe me! I beg you, don't go to the match today!"

"Gadget, listen, you're tired. You worked very hard last month."

"Why don't you ever believe me?! On some ordinary day I would be the first to laugh with you about it! But today…"

"She's right, lads, today's not an ordinary day!"

"Well, as if one overly superstitious Rescue Ranger wasn't enough…"

"It is not a superstition! Besides, you can watch the game on TV! Chip will wear his scarf, Dale'll put the jersey and all his pads…"

"H…how…how do you know about my scarf? I bought it just yesterday! You couldn't have seen it!"

"And about my j-jersey? And p-pads?"

"That's from my dream. You, Chip, wore a blue-red scarf. And you, Dale, a full set of hockey equipment. And a stick."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…she knows! She knows about the scarf! About my jersey! About my stick! She knows it all! She…she's just like Cassandra! She's a prophet! GADGET IS A PROPHET!"

"Okay, boys, listen to me! I know what you're thinkin' of superstitions, of my amulets and evil eye repel rituals. Do what ya like. But personally I and personally Zipper will stay home and watch this match on TV! I believe ya, lass. Maybe it's a sign from above. Maybe it's a Julius Seizure, like the ones Cassandra's havin'. Maybe it's message from Geegaw. I don't know. But I believe you. You aren't the kind of mouse girl to make this all up and pull our legs now. Today is the day when everything's possible."

"Thanks, Monty."

"Yeah, Chip, think what you please, but I believe Gadget!"

"Thank you, Dale."

"Gadget, forgive me for being rude."

"No problem, Chip. I know it seems improbable."

--

And over and over again. The Burning Ice-Dome, the rescue mission and the hospital. Again Sparky, again Mitchell. Once again Chip saves Oby and Dale delivers Morgan. And, in the very end of the day, her friends' visit…

--

"Gadget, please, listen to me and try to understand me correctly. We, as a team, have gone through many hardships. Through the danger, conflicts and even through parting. But everything always fell back into place. We were together again, we felt good and happy. And it suited me. I think it suited all of us.

No dangers, no twists of fate could have separated us, create hostility among us, lead us to a split. And that makes it all the more painful for me to realize that, quite possible, I'll do it now. You know, I…I never told you that I love you. I couldn't have done it. Something always prevented me from doing so. Or someone. Please, understand me correctly, if you stay with us…with me…I'll be the happiest chipmunk in the world!"

"Me too!"

"See…besides, we…we are so…different. Too different. And I am absolutely sure that some day, early or late, you'll meet someone who'll become a firm support and rejoice for you. And a great and loving father for your children."

"Gadget, we wish you only good, believe us."

"Thank you, guys! Thank you for caring. But, you know, I'll stay with you. I'll never leave you. I can't live without you, and I need no one but you! You are the best!"

"Really?!"

"You…you really think so?"

"Sure, friends! Have I ever lied to you?"

--

But all this was much later on, after the fateful match and the air crash. By that time, by 5:23 PM, in a little over ten hours, she had to repair the Plane and the Wing, gather everything needed for the rescue mission and for her work in the hospital, and only having done that she could without a qualm of conscience set about working on a project of the Boeing's rescue.

The conditions were very harsh. First, the construction must be durable enough to hold the engine in place and save the plane. Second, it must be built from the components already at hand or which can be obtained in ten hours. Third, one must be able to deliver it to the airport and install on the plane. And the last but far from the least, one must be able to install it on the plane in nine minutes 48 seconds maximum—exactly that much time passed between the Boeing leaving the terminal and the process of its irreversible destruction beginning.

But Gadget herself set much harsher conditions. She wanted to create a device which could be assembled and installed in six minutes four seconds — the time between the plane driving out the taxiway and her liftoff. There were two reasons for this. First, it was impossible to work in the immediate proximity of the terminal due to the danger of being spotted. Second, the mouse wanted to leave as much time in reserve in case of unforeseen complications, which on a day like this happen at the worst possible moment.

Besides, she had to take into account that she would need to get her friends to take part in the operation, who, unlike her, just physically and logically weren't able to train to assemble the rescue device, because each 'next' day was a brand new one for them. That's why along with the four requirements listed above there was one more, the fifth one — it must be as simple as possible.

One heck of a conundrum, to be sure.

But Gadget didn't give up. She _couldn't_ give up, because there was no other way out of this time loop. The feelings were discrepant to say the least. On the one hand, there was no need to hurry. That is, unless she had a limited number of attempts—a huge number, maybe, but limited nevertheless.

That's why she went on writing letters to her friends and working at the hospital to the point of exhaustion and beyond, time and again creating the same devices. Who knows, maybe next time having fallen asleep on the narrow couch or right behind the work desk, she will wake up right there? Or, and this was much more horrifying, she will wake up on the sofa in the hall wearing long-silent headphones with the realization that her time ran out and her friends were gone, this time once and for all.

But with each new Saturday she was growing more and more afraid of one more, the third variant. That this will never end. That no matter what she did, she couldn't break this vicious circle, this temporal loop. That she is doomed, like Sisyphus forever rolling his stone to the top of the mountain, to wake up in her room wearing her nightgown under her blanket at 7 AM on Saturday, the thirteenth of June, over and over again!

"NO WAY!" she shouted to herself when this treacherous thought occurred to her another time. "THAT'S NOT LIKE THAT! EVERYTHING'S GONNA BE ALRIGHT! TOMORROW WILL COME!" And then, having caught her breath and regained her self-assurance, returned back to calculations, blueprints, schematics and model making.

Step by step, day by day, the outlines of the future device appeared on paper. She put the list of needed components together, assembled the sequence of actions and the flight routes from point to point. Having spread the city map out across the workshop, Gadget with the help of a human-size divider augmented with leg-bindings, walked the length and breadth of it, carefully measuring the distance between Headquarters, the aircraft junkyard and the storage facilities of the nearest appliances and building materials shops.

The sight of the inventor striding around the map and mumbling something to herself made her friends feel something along the lines of devout fear smoothly transforming into holy terror.

"She definitely came up with something grandiose!" Chip said. "Definitely!"

Dale echoed the sentiment. "You can build many things in a month of constant workshopping! As for myself, I would heap up such a…"

But all these intermediate results had the same problem as her friends' training — in the morning there were no notes, blueprints or lists. Someone kept punching the reset button. Gadget had to keep everything in her memory, the contents of which didn't reset. Well, it could be much worse, couldn't it?

After the design stage the test phase came, for which the aircraft scrap yard suited her just perfectly. Gadget's old B-25 Mitchell had been scrapped long time ago, and other modern aircraft now stood in its place, but Gadget still felt her heart clenching when flying over the site of her former house. Too many memories. Well, maybe it was even better that the bomber wasn't there. It was also a sign that her days of loneliness had long since gone and her life was much brighter now. And will be such in the future. It remained only to make this future come about.

Design.

Testing.

Training.

Gadget gave herself only three days to perfect her actions, not a day more. Because with each new Saturday she grew more and more afraid—afraid of the possibility of running out of attempts, a threat hanging above her like the sword of Damocles. She was also afraid of becoming a hostage of traitorous thoughts like "well, just one more day, to be absolutely sure, everything will be alright…"

This deceptive complacency was hundreds times more dangerous because it urged her to stop and rest. "Hey, what can possibly change after one or two Saturdays off? Absolutely nothing! And you'll have time to bring your thoughts in order, to calm down, to have a rest…"

It was very attractive, to say the least—just too attractive to decline. But she can't allow herself to do it. She knew that you have only to indulge yourself once and it will start building up like a snow ball. Like a metal fatigue crack in the base of the pylon. Like the fatal bank which Boeing could enter but couldn't possibly recover from. That's why it would be only three days. Only three Saturdays. Not an hour, not a minute more!

On the third of these repetitive Saturdays she felt herself as prepared as possible. She knew the route and sequence of actions by heart and was able to assemble all needed devices with her eyes closed. And now, lying on the stiff hospital couch under a rough woolen bedspread she dreamt and prayed for only one thing — if only it wouldn't turn out that 'today' was the last of her chances.

It wasn't.

"Hi, Monty!" Gadget said, joyfully entering the kitchen the 'next' morning.

"Hi, luv! I'm sorry, but the breakfast isn't ready yet. I didn't expect anyone to get up so early. Besides, I noticed ya didn't say 'good morning!' as ya usually do and I…"

"I know, Monty, you shouldn't say that on a day like this."

Monty turned to Gadget right now slicing bread for sandwiches with a look of barefaced astonishment.

"Gadgie, but ya don't believe in all this 'superstitions', do ya?"

"I didn't. But I do now."

The inventor's words made Australian downright alarmed. He placed the ladle on the table and, having come up to the mouse, took her fingers with his palm.

"What's with you, Gadget-luv? Ye're beside yerself. What happened? Please, tell me."

"Everything's alright, Monty. Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Gadget, whatever ya say!"

"When Chip and Dale wake up in an hour, tell them not to go anywhere after breakfast. And don't go anywhere yourself. Then you should all come to the hall. It's very important. Okay?"

"Surely, darlin'! But what's happennin'?"

"I can tell you one thing — it's directly concerned with today's match!" Gadget answered and, having eaten quickly, left a completely bewildered Monterey Jack standing in the middle of the kitchen and bound upstairs leaping across two or even three stairs at once. By the time the guys wake up and have breakfast she must be prepared!

6

"Whatever you say, this June turns out being!" Dale exclaimed, addressing himself. Inspired with this deep and more importantly finished thought, the chipmunk opened the bedroom window wide, letting the morning breeze in. The flow of air stirred up the curtains, which badly needed laundering, then swept over the room like some cool and dusty wave and gradually turned into a draft and strolled through the lower floor.

"Close the window, Dale! It's drafty!" Chip cried from the corridor. He had just taken a shower and wasn't very pleased with a sudden cold wave rushing by him.

"And Gadget says fresh air's healthy!" Dale shouted in reply, still fanning dust clouds away and promising himself to wash the curtains tomorrow.

"But that draft isn't! Go ask her!" One cold-shuddering Chip trotted to the wardrobe and rapidly pulled on his jacket. It would be very foolish to catch a cold with fine weather like this. And on a long-awaited day like this besides.

Dale coughed out his reply. "I would go and ask her if she weren't in her workshop all the time. Almost a month already."

Dale's words made Chip sigh sorrowfully as he pulled down his fedora over his eyes and left the room. Dale put on his Hawaiian shirt on the move and followed him as he barely missed a collision with the doorpost.

"Good morning, Monty!" the two friends simultaneously said, taking their seats at the dining table.

After these words Monty gave a jump as if stung, spit three times over each shoulder and put out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror-scrubbed frying pan hanging right in front of him. Then he grabbed some odd things from the table, did a couple of elaborate gestures and only after all of this turned to the confused chipmunks.

"What's with you, Monty?" Chip asked.

"It's nothin' with me, but with you! Don't ya know how one should behave on a day like this?"

Chip thoughtfully scratched his chin. Dale no less thoughtfully tapped his nose and picked his ear. The Australian sniffed scornfully but deigned to educate them.

"Today's Saturday," he whispered as he pointed at the big wall-high loose-leaf calendar in the corridor. "The thirteenth!"

"Oh my, and that's all? And I thought…" laughed Dale, who was afraid of the thirteenth day only if it coincided with Friday, a lake and a dark forest.

"How can you believe in all this, Monty?" Chip shook his head. "You've been all around the world. You saw so much we can't even imagine! Different cultures, habits. Didn't it teach you anything?"

"Teach ya anythin', teach ya anythin'" Monty drawled. He turned back to the cooker, opened one of the pans and started vigorously stirring its contents. Even too vigorously, for the splashes flew all over the room. "Ev'n Gadget believes in it! She told me so herself!"

"Oh, Monty, come on!" Chip hemmed. "Besides, has she gotten up already? It's only five past eight, and considering that the noise from her workshop lasted till midnight…"

"Till two in the morning!" Dale corrected him. "It was two o'clock when I finished reading my 'Super Hippo' comic book, and the sounds were still there!"

"I know, I barely fell asleep," the muscle mouse nodded. He placed steaming plates in front of the friends, took off his cap and sat down across the table. "And barely managed to get up to prepare everythin' for breakfast. And at seven or somethin' like that she came to the kitchen, swallowed a couple of sandwiches and went back to work."

"AT SEVEN?! She's staying in there all day long! We've got to do something!" Dale said.

"Well…" Monty gave a mysterious wink at the chipmunks, "she agreed to go to the hockey match with us!"

"WHAAAT?!" Chip and Dale shouted. They sprang to their feet, nearly turning the table over, and put Monty through a cross-examination.

"Are you sure?! She said that?! You heard it right?!" Chip started finding out.

"You didn't confuse anything?! You sure it was Gadget?! Weren't you just imagining?! Maybe Zipper said it?!" Dale argued.

For a moment a shade covered Monty's face, the tips of his sumptuous moustache lowered a bit, and the smile withered. "Well, actually…"

"What?! What?!"

"I got it that way in me head. But I'm not sure now…"

"Recount your conversation with her in full," Chip strictly demanded, instantly shaking off the euphoria gripping him since Monty's historical remark.

"There's nothin' to actually retell here. I'm standing over here cookin'. Gadget enters. 'Hi, Monty!' I greeted her too and noted that she hadn't said 'Good morning' as she always does. And then she answered 'I know, Monty, you shouldn't say that on a day like this.' I couldn't believe my ears! 'But ya don't,' I said, 'believe in all these 'superstitions', do ya?' And she: 'I didn't. But I do now.' That's why I said that 'Ev'n Gadget believes in it!' Well, what's the wonder about that? Oh, yeah! I was frightened, ya know! Asked if somethin' happened. But she said everything's alright an' asked me to tell ya something when you wake up in an hour."

Monterey Jack suddenly broke off and glanced at the clock over the kitchen table, than back at the chipmunks.

"That's interestin'…" he muttered at last.

"Oh, that's nothing!" Chip waved off. "We always get up around this time!"

"Well, maybe…" Monty nodded, but this episode obviously was giving him no rest.

"Okay, Monty, what was next?" Dale was already bobbing impatiently.

"What's next…? Oh, yeah! So she asked all of us not to leave anywhere and go to the hall after breakfast. I ask, well, what's happennin'. And all of a sudden she said an incredible thing! Here, here, I even wrote it down!"

Monterey Jack dashed to the kitchen sink full of plates. After looking through them and finding nothing, he looked around, bewildered. Then, having remembered something, with a joyful scream he took the frying pan hanging in front of him from its nail and ceremonially put it upside down on the table.

Chip and Dale stared at the pan for a moment, then exchanged puzzled glances.

"And?" Chip asked.

"Ya know, I was so startled I decided to immortalize the words for generations to come. And there was nothing on hand but the cheese and pans! So I wrote them down oh the pan! Here!"

This words said, Monty turned the frying pan over and now chipmunks saw the letters written there for posterity with bold yellow lines.

"'I can tell you one thing — it's directly concerned with today's match!'" Chip read slowly.

"Great! Marvelous! She recovered! She remembers about the hockey!" Dale went on, capering over the kitchen.

Chip felt an urge to follow his example, but some little worm of doubt troubled the leader of Rescue Rangers. "Gadget didn't say anything else, did she?" he finally asked the question which he was afraid to ask but couldn't resist asking.

"No, nothin' more" Monterey Jack shook his head. "She ate and ran upstairs. Promised to explain everything later."

"Stop playing detective, Chip!" Dale exclaimed.

Tired of kitchen jumping, he flopped down on the chair and began eating hastily, as though it could have drawn the start of the hockey game any closer. Chip scratched his head and followed his friend's example. Could Gadget really have finished the work on her projects? Will she go with them to the match today?

It was hard to believe, taking into consideration the amount of components and blueprints piled up in her workshop. But if she indeed went with them, it would be just great! For a hockey match with Gadget and a hockey match without Gadget — that's two completely different hockey matches!

7

"Oh, here you are at last!" Gadget greeted them the very moment the two chipmunks and the Australian mouse appeared on the threshold. "Zipper and I were getting tired of waiting! Have a seat!"

She pointed at the sofa now rotated to face the front door, with the smallest Rescue Ranger sitting on its back. Quite intrigued with such an introduction, Chip, Dale and Monty dutifully took their seats in this impromptu auditorium and directed their gazes at the inventor standing in the center of the hall. The mouse allowed herself a short pause to take control of her emotions, then spoke.

"Friends!" she began, sounding as cheerful as possible. "Allow me to apologize to you first. Recently I was too carried away with my work and spent too much time in my workshop forgetting everything else around. It could've seemed to you that I was becoming too estranged from you, that I'd forgotten about you. If this is the case, I'm sorry. Believe me, I've never forgotten about you. You are my one and only friends! You're the dearest family I have in this world."

As she spoke, the concern disappeared from her friends' faces, giving place first to intrigue and then to deep caring. Chip was simply crushed on the spot, for the inventor almost word for word repeated his own feelings and thoughts. The realization that his and Gadget's feelings had so much in common filled the chipmunk's heart with light and warmth and he, deeply inspired, exclaimed, "Gadget! How could you ever think about us like that! We've never doubted it! I've never doubted it."

"Come on, Gadget, let's go to the hockey match today!" Dale interrupted him. "No, I'm serious, we haven't been out for a very long time, and the match promises—"

"Just a minute, guys!" Gadget raised her hand calling upon her friends to keep quiet. "I haven't finished yet. That's the very reason I told Monty to gather you here. I know that you have been waiting for this match for a very long time. I know such matches don't repeat. That's why it's very hard for me to ask you this, but, believe me, I don't have any other options left. So I earnestly ask you not to go to the hockey match today. I'll explain everything now. I had a prophetic dream."

"A prophetic dream?" Monty remarked. "Hmm, so that's why you said in the mornin'—"

"Yes, Monty, exactly. The dream was just like reality. As real as possible. A very long, very picturesque, very shrill. And very, very fearful."

"Oh, crikey…" Monty murmured. "It's not without purpose! I told ya! One can't mess with Saturday the Thirteenth! But you didn't believe me!" he addressed the chipmunks, sitting like stuffed dummies. They didn't answer, struck by Gadget's dreadful words, and such a silence established in the hall for some time that the numbers on the wall-mounted digital watches seemed to be heard changing.

Chip was first to regain his senses. "Gadget, I understand everything, but…don't you think that all those dreams aren't worth taking too seriously? Generally speaking."

"Believe me, Chip, this is very serious!"

"Gadget, listen," Dale made himself heard, "you're tired. You worked very hard last month."

"No, Dale. That's not the case. Besides, on some ordinary day I would be the first to laugh with you about it. But today—"

"She's right, lads," Monty observed, "today's not an ordinary day!"

Chip clutched his head. "Well, as if one overly superstitious Rescue Ranger wasn't enough…"

"No, Chip, this is not superstition!" Gadget countered. "This is the truth. Very terrible truth."

"Yeah, but what it's consist of?" Monty asked. "What did ya see?"

"As I've said already, the dream was very long. First I saw you leaving for the match by the Rangermobile and myself bidding you farewell. You, Chip, wore a blue-red scarf and you, Dale, a full set of hockey equipment. And a stick."

The chipmunks froze, their eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers.

"H…how…how do you know about my scarf?" Chip's voice trembled. "I bought it just yesterday! You couldn't have seen it!"

"And about my j-jersey? And p-pads?" Dale started stuttering with nervousness.

"That's the point, guys," Gadget said. "I didn't know about your scarf and hockey equipment. But I saw it. So, do you believe me now?"

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" Dale chattered. He ran up to Chip and almost yelled straight into his friend's ear. "She knows! She knows about the scarf! About the jersey! About the stick! She knows it all! She…she's just like Cassandra! She's a prophet! GADGET IS A PROPHET!"

Chip was so stunned he didn't give a try to ward Dale off, who kept on jerking him by the collar. It was illogical. Impossible. He didn't believe in all this! But no sooner had Dale mentioned Cassandra than Chip felt tingles down his spine. The Rescue Rangers' leader knew that some prophecies really come true. And although he didn't die as the prophet-moth had predicted, sometimes the falling chest did loom over him in his dreams. Naturally, Chip never told anyone about it…

"Okay, boys, listen to me!" the thunderous voice of the long-silent Monterey Jack sounded. "I know what yer thinkin' of superstitions, of my amulets and evil eye repel rituals. Do what ya like. But personally Zipper and me believe Gadget! Am I right, Zippah?"

The fly squeaked his agreement. Monty got up from the sofa, which creaked under his weight, up came up to Gadget and embraced her fatherly.

"I believe ya, lass," Monty said. "Maybe it's a sign from above. Maybe it's a Julius Seizure, like the ones Cassandra's havin'. Maybe it's a message from Geegaw. I don't know. But I believe you. You aren't the kind to make this all up and pull our legs. Today's the day when everything's possible."

"Thanks, Monty," Gadget said, smiling a knowing smile.

"Yeah, Chip, think what you please, but I believe Gadget!" Dale said. He too got up and, having stepped up to Gadget, put his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Dale!" the mouse smiled and Dale melted completely. He bent forward to kiss her but his lips came to rest upon fur-lined collar of Chip's jacket, who rapidly edged his way between them, and Dale started loudly spitting out fur clots from his mouth.

"Gadget, forgive me for being rude…" Chip began, but Gadget didn't let him finish and touched his lips with her fingertips. "No problem, Chip. I know it seems improbable. But, guys, this is far from the end."

"Far from the end?" Monterey Jack didn't even try to cover his anxiousness. "Gadget-luv, and what else did ya see in yer dream?"

"I saw an airliner full of passengers crashing. I saw her falling down on the city killing everybody on board and thousands of people on the ground. I saw the fire trucks and ambulances rushing from all over city to the crash site. And I saw hospitals full of the injured and dead."

"Oh boy, oh boy…" Dale started walking in circles over the room clutching his head.

Chip looked at him, then at Gadget and cried, "But if it's really so, we must do something! We must inform the humans! We must—"

The leader of the Rescue Rangers dashed to the door but Gadget stopped him.

"That's the worst, Chip! I've already tried to do it in my sleep but nobody believed me. It's just too incredible. Even you didn't believe me right away!"

Chip was full of nervous energy now. "Yes, but…but…we can't sit around twiddling our thumbs! We must—"

"But we won't be sitting around twiddling our thumbs! I've thought everything over! I've got a plan! But I'll gonna need your help."

"Sure, Gadget! You can count on us all!" the other Rescue Rangers answered in unison.

"Thank you, guys! But promise me one thing. That you'll follow my instructions exactly however strange they may seem to you at first glance. Promise?"

"Promise!!"

"Okay, then let's get to work! We've only got minutes to prepare! So, here's what we must do…"

**8**

By 1 PM everybody but Gadget was ready to drop from tiredness, exhausted by endless flights along the route 'Headquarters to shops' on the hastily repaired Ranger Wing. But they didn't complain. Time and again the infernal pictures of the catastrophe predicted by Gadget emerged before their minds' eyes and they got back to work with additional diligence, each time becoming more and more certain of her rightfulness.

None of the Rescue Rangers had any doubts left that the inventor indeed had a prophetic dream. For there was no other explanation to her knowing the location of the needed parts to the stand's shelf and box number, and knowing actions of warehouse employees to the second, which allowed her to direct them into a currently unobserved corner of the room. It was a wonder, no less.

"And the lass is just like Cassandra, huh, Chipper?" Monty observed, opening the next box containing the very parts they needed.

"No, Monty! Better! Much better!" the chipmunk answered, filling the sack with details and lowering it down into the hands of Dale waiting on the floor.

Returning from their next sortie, they had a hard time recognizing their Headquarters, which was becoming overgrown with a sophisticated system of pulleys and lifts joining the pad in front of the hangar with the large embrasure in the wall of Gadget's workshop.

"Darn she's working fast!" astounded friends told one another and tried their hardest not to fall behind. Having unloaded the new portion of delivered goods at the hangar, they immediately flew for the next one, only to find out upon return that everything they had brought disappeared and gave place to neat piles of special equipment and some strange-looking instruments.

When they delivered everything Gadget needed, she met them at the hangar doors and told that they had exactly one hour to rest, after which the second most important stage of operation would come.

The four Rescue Rangers just shrugged their shoulders and went upstairs. After everything they'd done today, nothing seemed to be able to surprise them, but soon they understood just how deep their delusion was. Gadget's building and assembly jobs didn't confine to their Headquarters' exterior; its interior also changed substantially. This was especially true regarding the hall, which had turned into a real conference-hall with a wide table and four armchairs facing the TV.

Some strange device also appeared, looking like an odd mishmash of a water-pump and sewing-machine with a long handle protruding from the side, connected by wires to the TV. Not far away, right near the handle tip, an improvised rostrum stood equipped with a microphone taken off a human head-set and connected to the TV as well. The windows were draped with thick black cloth making the room look like movie theatre.

"Whoa!" the friends gasped, unable to say anything more adequate and suddenly felt themselves badly needing some rest, because something truly epic was coming. And they found the sofa moved to the wall and disassembled into three covered beds. Never before had they found the semi-darkness reigning in the hall so pleasant and the surface of the sofa so soft…

"WAKE UP!"

Awakened by bright light and Gadget's loud voice, the Rescue Rangers reluctantly got up from their beds and, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, went to the table where cups of coffee and doughnuts prepared by a caring mouse were waiting for them. After this afternoon snack they felt themselves much better, and after drinking the coffee knew they were ready and able to move mountains.

"Gadget-luv, your coffee's just perfect!" Monterey Jack extolled, smacking his lips with pleasure. "Reminds me of my last visit to Brazil where I had an opportunity to taste the coffee in the bar of Marakana Stadium! Why didn't you tell us you can make an even better one?"

"Well, I came up with the optimal ratio of ingredients, water volume and boiling time just yest…that is, recently. But I've had lotsa practice!" the mouse parted her hands with a smile. She learned this recipe from Nurse Millie who wouldn't be able to stay on her legs by night if it weren't for this energizing drink. And Gadget not only mastered it but, as her custom was, significantly improved it. "Okay, drink it up and we'll get to business."

Having waited for her friends to chew up the doughnuts and set empty the cups aside, Gadget switched off the lights and the room sank into darkness with the TV screen standing out as a big gray spot reflecting the light barely making it through the drapes. Then the mouse's graceful silhouette flashed by it and she pressed an invisible button causing the strange device near the TV to hum and illuminate with white light coming from the inside. Then a deafening cracking and grinding sound was heard and Rescue Rangers had to cover their ears.

"Sorry, guys!" Gadget shouted from the shades. "The microphone is pinking!"

"Reassuring beginning, what's more to say…" Monterey Jack muttered into his moustache, fingering his stuffed up ear.

"Okay, guys, listen carefully!" Gadget's voice, reinforced by the microphone, echoed from the Headquarters' walls and seemed to come from all directions. She pulled the long handle, the device turning out to be a slide projector which swallowed the first of slides quickly made by the inventor, and a Boeing 747's drawing in three dimensions appeared on the TV screen.

"This is a Boeing 747 airliner," Gadget said. "Right now a similar plane, Flight NA10031 Lima to Sea-City, is approaching the state boundaries to perform an intermediate landing at our International Airport. At 5:05 PM she will depart from the airport terminal. At 5:12 PM she'll begin the run to take-off, and at 5:23 PM — fall to the ground. The cause of the disaster…"

Click of the handle, slide exchange and the blueprints of engine and pylon appearing on the screen. "The cause of the disaster, metal fatigue in the base of the pylon of right inner engine and, as a result, separation of the engine along with the pylon from the wing followed by right outer engine being torn off and the right wing as a whole being seriously damaged. The pilots manage to keep the plane airworthy, but during the emergency landing approach, because of the right wing's aerodynamics being seriously hindered, the plane enters an uncontrollable bank and crashes…"

The Rescue Rangers listened with their mouths wide open. They'd heard the air crash reports on the news before, but never before had they heard a report of the future catastrophe. And in such technical details! Gadget's words, restrained and laconic to the limit, bewitched and frightened.

Dale was biting his claws, Monty was covered with sweat and even Chip, though he remained imperturbable on the surface, was trembling inwardly like an asp leaf in the whirlwind. Gadget was shaking too, but throughout these days she had rehearsed her speech countless times, and now her voice was sounded even and impartial. The images of the falling airliner and devastated Ice-Dome popped up in front of her, and the screams of doomed passengers and moans of the injured echoed in her ears, but Gadget, having collected all her will into a fist, pushed these images to the outskirts of her mind. And although the mouse felt herself similar to the hated Vader for doing this, she couldn't dispute that there were indeed times when it's better to push emotions off to the side. She had no time for them now. She'll set them free later, after the operation. But not now.

One more click, one more slide. One half of the screen occupied with the image of some cranky construct, most closely resembling two curved sink plungers joined together by tips of their handles. To the right — once again the picture of the engine and its pylon, but this time with six such "megaplungers", one of their ends stuck to the wing, the other — to the middle of the pylon.

"This is the Airliner Rescue Kit, or simply ARK in abbreviated form," Gadget explained. "As you can see, this is a set of arcs consisting of two high-tensile cleats fastened together by a sliding clip with percussion suction cups on their ends. All in all there are six such arcs, three for each side of the pylon, joined together by similar high-tensile and mobile intermediate cleats, which allow the construct to suppress the vibration appearing during flight, thus additionally reinforcing the construction.

"In the center of each of the main arc cleats there is a trigger formed by a pneumatic suction cup closing mechanism. Pulling it causes the built-in pressurized air container to be activated and release the air, which, coming out under high pressure, pushes the holder-compressor along the cleat in the direction of the suction cup. The purpose of this holder-compressor is to provide additional means of fixing the suction cup in place and to force all the air possibly remaining under it out.

"In the end we have an absolutely hermetic seal which is firmly held in place by the atmospheric pressure from the outside, which is infinite times greater than the pressure of air beneath the suction cup, which, in turn, is equal to zero due to complete absence of the air there. Despite its seeming complexity, the device is fairly easy to use. One should keep an eye out for the suction cup to be tightly pressed to the work surface when the trigger is being pulled. If that's the case, there will be no problems."

"Why does she always say that…" Monterey Jack muttered in a cheerless voice, or, rather, whisper.

Gadget continued her briefing. "To make the transportation process easier, the separate components of the ARK are distributed among four containers, each of which stores four components: three cleats of main arcs and one movable intermediate arc. The containers are fixed under the airliner's wing in the immediate proximity of the pylon, two on each side."

Next click and the map of the International Airport appears on the screen.

"And now the plan of our impending operation," Gadget said.

"Wowie-zowie! This is like a secret agent briefing!" Dale said, then ducked his head. "Oh uh, sorry Gadget. Keep on going, this is great!"

"Thanks Dale," Gadget said, then referred back to the map. "The thick red line marks the route of the plane from the airport terminal to the exit on the taxiway. This route segment is too crowded and too well observed, so it's impossible to undertake our rescue actions on it there. The blue dotted line marks the route segment from the beginning of the taxiway (point A) to the start of the runway (point B), from where the aircraft starts running to take-off.

"This segment is much more suitable for our task, so we'll be working right there. Under normal conditions it takes the plane 6 minutes 4 seconds to go from point A to point B. This is the absolute minimum, and nothing will take this time from us. That's why I proceeded from this very amount of time while designing the ARK."

"SIX MINUTES?!" All Rescue Rangers sitting at the table shouted at once and exchange bewildered glances.

"But that's so short, Gadget!" Chip said. "It's not possible!"

"We don't know how to use it!" Dale exclaimed.

"Yeah, Gadget," Monty observed, "I surely understand that you could've trained yourself to make and unmake this thing many times over in yer sleep, but we—"

"One moment, please, that's not all. Look at these four crosses along the liner's route. They mark the places to lay our four containers. As soon as the plane reaches point A, the stage of container delivery will begin. This stage takes 2 minutes and 57 seconds. So, under normal circumstances we'll have 3 minutes 7 seconds to install the ARK."

"Oh boy, from bad to worse!" Dale clutched his head.

Monty added, "He's right, lass! We won't make it in three minutes! We haven't even seen your ARK at all!"

"Don't worry, Monty, I thought everything over. You and Zipper will hold the plane on the ground and give me and the boys time to finish everything!"

"Hold the plane? Me and Zippah? Gadget-luv, thanks for such a flattering appreciation of my physical conditions but I'm afraid that even with Zipper's help I won't hold the plane on the ground!"

"Golly, Monty!" Gadget giggled. "Nobody was going to make you hold the plane with your paws and legs!"

"Thanks for that at least…"

Gadget smiled at her doubting audience. "There is another, much simpler and more effective way to do it. The point is that the plane can't take off until the pilots receive take-off clearance!"

Monty paused, digesting the words he just heard. "Don't tell me," he began slowly, "that me and Zippah are goin' to have to paralyze the operations of the air traffic control tower of one of the busiest airports in the world?"

"Well…" Gadget had a thought for a moment. "Well, yes!"

Monty and Zipper nervously gulped.

"But this is…this is…this is an act of sabotage! Terrorism!" Monty protested.

"No, Monty, it's a rescue mission! Besides, I'm not asking you to break down or destroy anything. You'll just have to make sure that the air traffic controller responsible for the planes on the ground won't give our plane take-off clearance until we finish our job!"

Monty wiped his brow. "That's much better, but there are so many traffic controllers out there. How would we know who to mess up?"

"You and Zipper will use a detailed map of the control tower's ventilation system and the scheme of traffic controllers' seating in the room. I've already got the name of the person you need to delay written on it for you."

"Gadgie, you had one heck of a long dream!"

"Yes, Monty. Truly long. The longest in my life," Gadget answered and added to herself, _Hope it'll end someday_.

**9**

After the briefing the Ranger team split up. Monty and Zipper accompanied Gadget to the workshop to help her with transporting the four metallic containers — rectangular boxes with squared sections. The length of the containers was slightly smaller than the Ranger Wing's wingspan, and their width and height slightly bigger than that of the plane's fuselage. Despite the components of the ARK being very light for their size, the containers turned out heavy and cumbersome enough for their transportation to need all the power of the Wing's new lifting gear system Gadget had built into the front of the aircraft.

To compensate for the workload on the Wing's front and balance the plane, Gadget built a ballast block on its tail, consisting of several steel beams topped by a solid steel sheet. This sheet had another major function: the Ranger Plane would be fastened onto it with her wall landing plunger, for the winged veteran was about to play a rather important role in the future operation too.

While Gadget with Monty and Zipper carried the containers from the workshop onto the loading beams and then one by one transported them to the International Airport, leaving them in predefined places, Chip and Dale strenuously trained to assemble the ARK.

For this purpose Gadget built a real training center which included full-scale models of the two main arcs and one intermediate arc and a whole bunch of ropes. The chipmunks had to use these ropes to get to the target arcs, take them out of the container's sockets and attach them to the metallic plates driven in the trunk and nearby branches of the tree, representing the surface of the pylon and the wing respectfully.

To make the conditions as close to the field—or rather wing—as possible, the simulator was blown around with powerful air streams created by a fan and the blow dryer taken off the Rangermobile and the Gyrotank. Moreover, Chip and Dale had to work in heavy and hot helmets which made their heads outweigh their bodies, so they needed to constantly apply effort to avoid spinning and getting entangled in the ropes.

These helmets had their advantages, though. They were absolutely sound-proof, and you can't argue too much in pantomime because you get tired fast. And second, Gadget stuck two pairs of densely pressed thin glasses with two pages of detailed instructions on how to assemble the ARK between them. The glasses could be turned up and down to keep them on their foreheads while working and look only when it was needed.

Although Gadget specifically asked them to train until these instructions became unneeded, and promised to remove them before the operation, she wasn't really going to do it and said it just to mobilize them, for she knew better then anyone else that even the most intensive hour and a half long exercise couldn't match her 'three days' worth of training.

By the time Gadget and Monterey Jack delivered the last container to its destination and returned from the airport, the chipmunks were ready to hang themselves on all these ropes at once. Their hands trembled, bodies ached, heads felt square, necks hurt from the weight of the helmets. But everything began to fall into place in their minds and movements, and they were fully able to assemble the needed device in slightly more then ten minutes.

"Okay, guys!" Gadget told the chipmunks, once they'd taken off their helmets and Gadget had checked her clock and operation timetable. "You have half an hour to rest. Coffee and doughnuts are in the hall. You are simply great. I'm proud of you! I'll be waiting for you in the hangar at 4:45 PM. Please, don't come late."

"You hear that? She's proud of me!" Dale drawled with his tongue barely moving when they were going upstairs to the hall.

"No, she's proud of me!" Chip scarcely found strength to answer his friend, each next step being a true test for him.

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

Continuing to quietly argue with what was left of their strength, they lagged to the table in the hall. The aroma of the coffee poured in the cups alone bucked up and urged them to conquer new summits, and when the cups were empty the Rescue Rangers felt themselves ready for at least a couple more hours of exercise.

"I still wonder what did she put in it?" Dale noted, pouring himself another cup.

"Nothing illegal, I hope," Chip answered, snatching the coffee pot away from him to have some more too.

**10**

At 5:03 PM, Pacific Time, the Ranger Wing with the Ranger Plane tacked to her tail landed on the grounds of the International Airport, fifteen feet away from the taxiway connecting Terminal 2 with Runway 28. No sooner had the landing bars touched the short-mowed grass then Monterey Jack and Zipper jumped out of the cockpit and darted to the Plane.

Aussie and fly unfastened the strapping pulled extra-tight then set free the helium balloon, which had been pressed to the fuselage to lower the air drag during the flight. Getting into the cockpit, Monty released the wall landing plunger and returned it into the Plane's hull, separating the two planes completely. He was going to start the engine when Gadget ran up to him.

"Monty, wait! I've completely forgotten! Put this on!" Gadget shouted.

With these words the mouse inventor handed Monty a belt with some strange plastic box on one side.

"What's that, Gadgie?" Monty asked.

"This is your communication device. Due to our helmets being sound-proof neither I nor the boys will hear anything external so I designed these vibro-transceivers. By pressing this button you'll issue a radio signal, and our transceivers will vibrate. The system's set up the same way for us to contact you.

"When you reach the ventilation grate in the air traffic control room, issue two short buzzes to let me know you're in position. When we dock with the 747, I'll send you two short signals for you and Zipper to start acting. If for some reason you won't be able to disrupt the takeoff clearance procedure, send me one long signal and I'll know we've got a problem. One long signal from my side means 'you may leave, everything's alright'. One long unstopping signal from my side will mean we've got some very serious problems and you should leave immediately by any means available. Or that my button got stuck. Got it?"

"Yeah, Gadget-luv, I gotcha!" Monty answered, putting the belt on and adjusting the box properly. "Especially the last one."

"Oh, and there's one more thing!" Gadget fetched two plugs from her pocket and gave them to the muscle mouse.

"Gadget, what good will ear-pluggin' do ME?"

"It's not for your ears but for your nose."

"For me nose? Didn't know it smelled so bad in the control towers. But then, if you think what nervous work it is and how long those shifts are…"

"No, Monty, that's not the problem. One of the air traffic controllers happens to have two cheese sandwiches with him!"

"WITH CHEEEEEESSSEEEEE!" Monty roared, his moustache puffing out and his eyes glazing over at the sole mention of his favorite dainty. Gadget sighed and crammed the plugs right into the Australian's nostrils, wide with a cheese attack. He came to consciousness immediately and, touching his plugged nose, responded in a resentful and slightly changed voice.

"Gagget, ya doudnd gav dun dood id dad bay…"

"Sorry, Monty, but please, understand me…"

"Bell, bell…" Monty waved off and moved his nose, trying to acclimate himself to the noseplugs. "I dow bat broblems cad 'abben begauz ow my addags…good lug!"

"Map's with you?"

"Gere!" Monterey Jack rustled with the paper in his pocket.

"One this is all done we'll meet in the appointed place!"

"Ogay!" Monty showed a thumbs-up and, having waved Gadget and the chipmunks sitting in the Wing farewell, took off and headed to the control tower, a lone steel sentinel above the airport building.

"Okay, Gadget, where's our 'patient'?" Dale rubbed his hands in impatience as the inventor returned to the cockpit.

"There she goes!" the mouse answered, pointing at the green-blue Boeing at the moment turning in their direction. "Put on your helmets, guys! We're working! Rescue Rangers away!"

Gadget lifted the Wing into the air and flew it to the guide-board standing not far away with the first of the containers delivered earlier sparkling on its edge. Hovering in front of it, the mouse carefully hooked it from below with the Wing's manipulators and, having fixed the clutch, ran via them to the container.

She tore away the pneumatic glue sprayer attached to the container's side with the duct tape and covered the upper edge of the metallic box with a thick layer of superglue, fully discharging the sprayer, then threw the unneeded device away and got back behind the yoke. Cautiously picking the precious cargo up from the sign, she flew the Wing to the airliner currently taxiing by.

Evading the jet streams by a thoroughly worked-out procedure, Gadget glued the container to the left of the engine near the leading edge of the wing, then shot the rope arrows from two prepared plunger minilaunchers so that they attached to the plane in the close vicinity to the engine. By this time the 747 had passed the distance to the next container left by Rescue Rangers so there was no need to fly too far.

The same sequence of actions repeated three more times, the only difference being that the two last containers were glued to the right side of the engine. Furthermore, while picking up container number four, Gadget landed the Ranger Wing with the middle of the fuselage on top of the guidepost, lowered the landing bars and covered them with superglue from the second glue sprayer attached to the box.

Then she switched sides with Chip and flew on, controlling the Wing from the co-pilot's seat. The very moment she glued the last container to the Boeing's wing the black box on her belt shortly vibrated twice.

_Well, Monty and Zipper reached the starting position right on time_. Once she attached the container, Gadget flew the Wing slightly backwards and, turning it upside down, docked with the 747. Glancing at the watch, she noted with satisfaction that they were proceeding exactly by the schedule, moreover, they were three seconds ahead. That's not much, but now, just like in hockey, every second was worth its non-existent weight in gold.

Gadget pressed the button on her vibrotransceiver twice, giving Monty a green light, then nodded to Chip and Dale, who at her command took the minilaunchers from their mountaineering belts rife with equipment and shot the arrows in the direction of their respective containers. They were to deploy the ARK on the left side of the Boeing's wing while Gadget handled the right side of the engine.

She assigned the right, most important side to herself because there the destruction process began. _Will begin…no, wouldn't begin_! Because the Wing was docked to the left of the engine, she had to pass under the pylon first. That is, she had to climb over it, because one had to walk about the wing upside down.

"Clock's ticking!" Gadget shouted.

Neither Chip nor Dale heard her, of course. She didn't hear herself, but this command as if from the outside made her brace up even more and concentrate on the rescue mission. She shot another rope arrow at the pylon's side facing her and, shoving her feet into the plunger shoes stuck to the cockpit floor, climbed over the board and went to her containers.

The clock was really ticking. No, not ticking, but running headlong. _Hope Monty and Zipper will manage to delay the take-off at least a bit_ Gadget thought, pulling herself up on the rope to the tips of the main arcs protruding from the container. _Okay, there's no time to feel nervous about something you can't influence_. Emotions will come later. Right now the work was paramount.


	6. Part 4 Tomorrow act II

11

**11**

The two short vibro-signals turned out so powerful that Monterey Jack set up a howl and barely kept his balance.

"Dazz is in ger deberdoire, wha' gan I say…" he mumbled, massaging his itching side as Zipper laughed. "And dere's nodding to daugh at! I'm zure you would 'ave zounded eben worse wid de dozeplugs!" he added.

After this irate though comical tirade Zipper burst into even louder laughing. _Well, well, we'll see who'll be the last to laugh the best! Hope Zipper will like the trick I learned from Javanese red ants_ Monty thought, opening the grate leading to the air traffic control room. There were five men sitting behind the consoles in the room now, each with his own sector of responsibility.

Monty's and Zipper's target was the air traffic controller at the console number six. Gordon Wright was his name, a young clean-shaven man with a tidy short haircut wearing a blue shirt and a tie of the same color. Right now he was saying something into his headset's microphone. He was calm, self-disciplined and smart, the true embodiment of neatness and order—for now.

Monty fastened the rope at the edge of the ventilation shaft and descended to the floor where he ran from cover to cover on his tiptoes as he approached console number six. The Australian looked over the room first with a quick glance of an experienced Rescue Ranger, and then with the smirk of a great joke-lover and rubbed his paws in anticipation of a true show. This young man definitely wouldn't be superstitious and wouldn't believe in all the prejudices associated with Saturday the Thirteenth. _Well, this Saturday will truly be for him a day to remember._

"Zibbah! Air!" the muscle mouse commanded, pointing at the air controller's head-set. Because of the plugs in his nose the old friends changed roles, and now Zipper had to decipher what Monty was saying. But they had been friends for long enough to overcome just about any language barrier, and Zipper rushed to the attack.

"Tower, this is November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, holding short Runway two-eight. Ready for takeoff." the voice from the headphones was heard.

"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, Tower, winds two-seven-zero, fifteen—" Gordon began his standard reply, but suddenly a fly sat on his nose. He tried to wave it off, but it didn't fly away. Moreover, it clutched his nose even stronger and bit it.

"Ouch!" Gordon exclaimed and hit the point of the bite with his palm. The fly was already gone, but Gordon's nose wasn't. The blow made it hurt even more and caused the headset to slip down slightly. Zipper was ready to seize the opportunity and struck it down on the floor.

"Tower, this is November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, holding short Runway two-eight. Ready for takeoff, repeat, ready for take-off. Do you copy!" The notes of irritation could be distinctly heard in the Boeing pilot's voice.

"Darned fly…" Gordon growled, rubbing his aching nose. He bent down to pick up the fallen headset, thrusting his weight upon the back of his armchair in the process. That was what Monterey Jack was waiting for. By this time he had slackened the bolts holding the back of the chair and now jumped up and pulled down the handle of its position adjuster.

The binding unclenched, the back abruptly moved backwards under Gordon's body weight, came out of the slots and fell to the floor. With his hands spread out wide, Gordon followed his chair's back to the floor.

"Tower, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one heavy. What's happening up there?! Do you copy?!"

Disheveled and cross as three bears at once, Gordon laid hold of the edge of his console and looked around. His colleagues sat in the different corners of the room with their backs turned to him and were too busy with their assigned aircraft and apparently didn't notice anything.

_Thank goodness!_ he thought standing up and put the headset back on. He opened his mouth to give his plane take-off clearance at last, but noticed a small pack of hot Chili ketchup had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

_Montgomery's jokes again!_ Wright bristled at the thought—he couldn't bear the pungent food. Suddenly something closely resembling a big mouse fell down on the pack and thick ketchup splashed on Gordon's face. The majority of it went right into his mouth, wide open with astonishment, and Gordon felt as if he'd swallowed a bunch of hot coals.

Gordon forgot just about anything and hurled the headset on the console as he darted to the water cooler standing at the doors. Oll fate was still following him, though, for all the disposable cans had vanished. But Gordon didn't feel like searching for them right now, and he shoved his open palm under the spigot, naturally expecting cold water to pour from it. But the poor man didn't know that Zipper had switched the labels, and realized something was wrong when his hand was doused with boiling water.

"AAAAAH!" Gordon yelled, jumping up and blowing at the burnt hand.

"Gordon, what's happening?!" the traffic controller from behind the console number 10 asked him.

"Nothing, Larry, it's nothing!" Gordon answered with great effort, still affected by the ketchup.

"HEY, WRIGHT!" the shout from the other side of the room came. "WHY IS ONE-ZERO-ZERO-THREE-ONE STILL ON THE RUNWAY?! I GOT TWO PLANES TO LAND!!"

"Oh man, sure, sure…" Gordon mumbled running up to his console. He put the headset on and, gulping the air to sooth his burnt palate, spoke, "November-Alpha… one-zero-zero-three-one, this is Tower. You are cleared… for take-off. I repeat, you are cleared… for take-off."

_Silence_.

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, this is Tower. Do you copy? Do you—" Gordon grabbed the microphone to bring it closer to his mouth and froze, finding the microphone head neatly cut off from the headset. Then he shifted his gaze at his console and only now realized it wasn't working at all. He started clicking the buttons and switches, but the console wasn't showing any signs of life.

Gordon walked around the console to check the power cable and almost went grey on the spot at the sight in front of him. He slowly bent down and with his shaking left hand (his right was still aching with burns) picked up the bunch of power and information cables pulled out of their sockets and tied in a tight clove hitch.

"MISTER WRIGHT, WHAT'S WITH YOUR PLANE?!"

Gordon slowly turned around to face the furious look of his shift supervisor.

"Me…my console…"

The supervisor looked the bubbling traffic controller over and shook his head reproachfully. "Larry! Get Wright's planes! Gordon, go home, put yourself to rights and bring me a report explaining…all of this." He pointed at the dead console and the cobweb of cables in Gordon's hands. "Tomorrow, first thing! Understood?"

"Y-yes, s-sir, understood."

"On your way now! Out! Out!"

The shift supervisor went away, leaving a tousled Gordon behind, wearing a tie slid aside and a shirt strained with water and ketchup. His hand and mouth burned, while a broken headset on his head hung along with a bunch of cables in his left hand.

_What the heck is this_ he thought. _A vicious fly, a flyaway armchair, nuclear ketchup, boiling water from the water cooler, a wrecked console. It's definitely not my day today. Saturday, the thirteenth, come to think about it. After all of that you can sure become superstitious._

Monty cast a last glance at the morally broken Gordon Wright as he left the room. Monty sorrowfully sighed and lowered the ventilation grate behind him as he left. _Poor guy, it wasn't his fault, after all_. But then, his troubles were nothing compared to the catastrophe Gadget had predicted. Monty pressed the button of his vibrotransceiver, sending Gadget one long signal. _Let's hope the guys managed to finish everything!_

"Bell, Zibbah? Whad wid ya zay?"

The fly squeaked his approval.

"Zee! Dearn whilah ya gan! Ya know, dis jidders whedded my abbedide to de sgy and beyon' dat!"

Monty sat on the floor of the ventilation shaft near two slices of cheese which, just like Gadget predicted, he had found in the bag belonging to one of air traffic controllers, who also turned out being a big fancier of hot ketchups, which came in very handy. Australian pulled the wearisome nose plugs out and the rich aroma instantly turned his head and other body parts. Gadget was right—if it hadn't been for those plugs he would have been simply incapable of doing anything. But he, Monterey Jack, bravely endured all hardships and considered himself entitled to relax a bit.

"CHEESE!"

**12**

"Tower, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Do you copy?" the Boeing's captain, stuck at the end of the runway, kept on wearily repeating the phrase over and over. Then he turned to his co-pilot. "I don't know, they seem to have fallen asleep up there!!"

"Maybe something happened, Captain?" the co-pilot speculated.

"Happened? That's not a control tower but some mental health institute! We were to have been in the air long ago already!"

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, this is Tower."

"Oh, good heavens, we were getting worried over here! What's happening?"

"Sorry for the delay, unforeseeable consequence. November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, Tower, winds two-seven-zero, fifteen knots, cleared for takeoff."

"Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Acknowledged. Cleared for takeoff, runway two-eight."

The captain pushed the lever to adjust the engines' power and the plane started vibrating into motion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain addressed the passengers via intercom, "the crew apologizes for this unforeseen delay. Please, don't worry, everything is all right. We're taking off now."

Switching the intercom off, he turned to his co-pilot. "Okay, Henry, let's fly her up!"

**13**

_Take out the arc. Attach the plunger. Pull the trigger of the holder-compressor. Repeat_.

Chip was working at the leading edge of the wing, Dale closer to the tail. Each of them had to install three main arcs and one intermediate arc—one container a head, exactly two times less work than Gadget had. It couldn't have been otherwise taking into account the tremendous difference in their training. But Chip still was slightly ashamed. He felt himself completely exhausted while installing the third, intermediate arc. And Gadget had a full eight of them.

_How is she there? Is she all right?_ the chipmunk kept thinking. Now the pylon between him and the beautiful mouse looked like the thick stone wall of a gloomy dungeon encircled with primeval forest and deep seas. His inability to either see or hear her was outright dispiriting. Sure, they could exchange vibro-signals, but Gadget told him to use them in case of emergency only, and Chip didn't want to raise a false alarm. Besides, had Gadget experienced any problems, she would have informed them immediately.

But what if her transceiver broke down?!

And what if she didn't have time to send a distress signal?!

_Gosh, why am I winding myself up?! _Chip gave himself a mind scolding. _I can cause problems myself with that kind of thinking_. And though he was still skeptical about the various omens and such, Gadget's prophetic dream made him consider the possibility that the world around him was not as simple as he used to think…

Chip inserted the intermediate arc into the lock connecting the two main arcs, double checked with his instructions stuck to his helmet and, having rotated the lock of the cleat by 90 degrees counter-clockwise, made sure it was holding fast. The outward appearance of the resulting junction slightly differed from the one drawn on the schematics, but the arc wasn't moving and wasn't coming out, so everything was alright.

Now it was time for the most difficult stage, mounting of the third main arc. This called for very high precision and very accurate coordination of his and Dale's actions, for his arc must be connected with Dale's arc along with both intermediate arcs. Despite the arcs being flexible enough and the lock design universal enough to put together in almost any configuration, room for error was quite small and the price of a mistake now was just too high.

Fetching the last remaining arc out of his container, Chip folded it as tight as he could and fastened it by a specially provided hook on its surface to the binding on his belt as a safety precaution. Then he carefully walked along the pylon's surface toward the aircraft's tail to meet Dale, walking in exactly the same manner to him.

Having met right in the middle, the chipmunks started arguing in gesture language whose arc would be the upper and whose the lower (both wanted to install the lower arc, for it was the easier of the two). Chip won the argument and started to descend one half the distance between the intermediate arc and the level of bottom the row of plungers, holding the arc with his left hand and the rope with his right.

Hitching the rope to his belt in order to free his hands, the Rescue Rangers leader aimed carefully then attached the plunger to the pylon's surface before pulled the holder trigger with his free hand. The arc jerked and a flat metal plate fixed two inches above the plunger darted forward and pressed the pliable rubber into the metal. Chip smiled. _Excellent, now they have only to connect everything._

Suddenly everything around Chip began to move. The pylon under his legs trembled mightily as a vibration wave from the engine abruptly started to gather power running through it. The laces of Chip's plunger shoes broke and the chipmunk clutched at the rope with all his paws rapidly rotating along with it.

The next wave of the vibration threw him at the pylon, bashing the living daylights out of him and piercing his right side with great pain, but he still managed to hold on. Looking up, Chip saw Dale dangling up and down in almost the same condition as him, the only difference being that Dale's plunger shoes remained intact.

They exchanged rapid gestures, confirming that the plane was going to take off, which meant that they had to leave soon and everything must be done all that faster. And they proceeded to do it. Breaking all existing records in the field of rope climbing, they reached the junction point of all four arcs and, one by one—or rather two by two—merged them together into one uniform system.

When Chip attached his intermediate arc and turned it by 90 degrees, four little clips popped out of small slots at the base of the lock, and here Chip realized what he hadn't liked in his previous binding. He turned around and found out to his greatest terror that the opposite end of the intermediate arc had dropped out of the slot and was now dangling from side to side under the action of contrary air flow, time and again striking at the main arc's junction. It didn't take being Gadget to comprehend that sooner or later the junction would weaken or fail completely and then…

Chip grabbed the plastic box on his side to send an emergency vibro-signal and attract Dale's attention, who was already moving towards the Ranger Wing. But his fingers found only a crumpled medley of plastic and wires there. The hit against the pylon had come right on the vibro-transceiver! And there was no use in shouting.

But then Chip's hand stumbled on the last unused mountaineering D-ring remaining on his belt, which he thought he wouldn't need anymore, but which turned out truly lifesaving. Chip took it off, carefully aimed and threw at Dale. The D-shaped ring was used for connecting ropes, but now it took on a new function as it whizzed through the air and hit Dale's helmet.

Enraged, Dale turned around but saw Chip's alarmed look and the arc dangling amok and ran to the rescue immediately. When he came close, Chip clapped at the empty belt showing why he hadn't buzzed his friend and that he got nothing.

Dale wore his belt under his Hawaiian shirt and when he pulled it up Chip barely restrained himself from joyful jumping at the sight of a last remaining plunger minilauncher. Having torn off one of the ropes hanging nearby along with its suction holder, the leader of the Rescue Rangers told Dale his plan in pantomime, and the red-nosed chipmunk understood everything from the second attempt already.

While Chip was revolving the end with the suction cup above his head, Dale shot the arrow from the minilauncher directly above the middle of the intermediate arc, then climbed along the main arc as high as he could and got ready to jump.

Chip threw the rope so as to make its end twist around the rocking arc and pulled it to himself, trying to get the arc as close to the lock as possible. When he more or less did it, Dale jumped on it and propelled it forward making it go tightly into the socket. Then Dale secured himself on it with his plunger shoes, grabbed the rope Chip was holding and moved his legs, negotiating the obstinate construct around its axis.

This time everything went as it should, the proof being four little clips popping out of their respective slots. The friends sighed in relief and exchanged gestures of triumph as they went to their plane, glued to the surface of the wing.

The Ranger Wing wasn't there, though.

She was much closer instead.

'Jump!' Gadget waved, pointing at the manipulators on the Wing's nose, slowly but steadily moving away from the chipmunks, albeit flying at full speed. The small plane was rapidly falling behind the Boeing, the gap growing greater with each passing second.

There was no need to ask Chip and Dale twice, and they jumped in turn order on the metallic hands cautiously offered to them. Gadget immediately lowered the plane to the height of the airliner's gear, simultaneously reducing speed and turning right, to the edge of the runway. The winged leviathan darted past, leaving the Rescue Rangers far behind.

Having moved far enough away from the runway, Gadget carefully landed the plane—now missing its landing bars—on the flat concrete slab of the walkway and, having literally torn her helmet off, switched the receiver set to the needed frequency.

**"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure, radar contact. Climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero."**

**"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one, roger, climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero."**

"Whoa, that was a great ride!" Dale shouted, pulling his helmet off and stretching his numb ears. "I think we should send off to the Guinness people for the record for quickest airplane crash prevention! What do you think, Gadget?"

The mouse didn't answer. She sat in the pilot's seat, rolled into a tight ball and staring vacantly with her wide-open eyes somewhere beyond the receiver, beyond the dashboard, beyond the airport. Somewhere there, where the giant airliner was flying in the summer sky.

"**Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Passing six thousand****—"**

"Gadget, what are you listening to?" Dale asked coming closer.

Chip came up and nudged him, showing a finger pressed against the lips.

Dale wanted to answer but, having understood that for Gadget there was indeed nothing more important then the voices coming from the radio now, restrained himself and became all ears too. _After all, if Gadget's listening to something, then it's worth it._

"**Fuel pressure indicator for engine number three giving some strange readings…"**

Gadget felt herself chilled from inside out. _Golly, could I have failed? Could I have miscalculated something and the ARK didn't work?_ Will she again, just like always, hear the shrill "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday", shouts of the passengers and captain's calm voice asking to convey his last words to his family?

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Understood. Problems with indicator. How serious is the problem?"**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Difficult to tell. All other systems are working properly."**

Gadget was shaking, her heart pounding trip-hammer fast and everything blurring before her eyes. "Please, hold…please, hold…" she kept repeating, as if she were speaking some power incantation to the far-away pylon. "Please, hold…"

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. So what's going on with your indicator?"**

_What is it?! Can it be?_

No, this phrase definitely wasn't there before! It's something new.

_Can it be?!_

"**Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one here. Apparently something's shorted out. The computer shows everything's alright. We don't know what this malfunction is caused by, but the plane's flying smooth, all systems are working properly. Passing ten thousand."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Acknowledged, altitude ten thousand. Turn to heading zero-zero-five, repeat, heading zero-zero-five. Climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero. Waiting for acknowledgement."**

Gadget slowly leaned back on the seat. Now these dry phrases the pilots exchanged with ground control sounded for her sweeter then anything she'd heard before, even the most beautiful music. She had dreamed to hear them for so long that she still couldn't believe it was happening in reality. The words to describe the feelings overwhelming her just hadn't been devised yet.

Gadget herself didn't know how to adequately and fully react to this, and so she just sat there, settled back in the pilot's seat, her eyes closed and a smile shining on her face. Certainly, neither Chip nor Dale standing nearby could perceive her feelings in full measure. But they knew that everything was alright. That their Gadget was happy like never before. And they were happy, too. So they just stood there on the walkway, not too far away from the edge of the International Airport's Runway 28 — the two happiest chipmunks in the whole world.

"**Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Reached flight level two-zero-zero, turning to zero-zero-five. Repeat, reached flight level two-zero-zero, heading zero-zero-five."**

"**November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Acknowledged, flight level two-zero-zero, heading zero-zero-five. You are leaving our sector. The corridor ahead of you is free, the weather en route to Sea-City is fair and cloudless, wind moderate at twenty-two—make that twenty-five knots. Good luck and have a safe flight!"**

"**Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Thank you very much. Good luck to you too!"**

Gadget switched the receiver off but continued to sit there with her eyes closed. The chipmunks kept looking at her, saying nothing, delighted with this idyllic moment. They didn't know what to say, and whether there was any need to say anything at all.

"And 'ere we are!" Monterey Jack announced, landing the Ranger Plane on the adjoining slab. "Hope you've been waitin' fo' us!"

"Sure, Monty!" Gadget answered, opening her eyes and looking at her friends gathered around the Wing. Then she got out of the cockpit and embraced them, first one by one, then all at once.

"Thank you, guys!" she said, her words full of her grateful heart. "Thank you for believing me! Thanks for your help! I would have never done it without you!"

"Not at all, Gadget!" everybody answered at once. "We're the Rescue Rangers! It's our job!"

"Oh, sure, how could I have forgotten!" the mouse laughed. "Okay, friends, time to go! Monty, Zipper! Prepare the Plane for hauling!"

When all the preparations were finished and the Wing with the Plane attached to it set course for the city, Chip asked, "Gadget, could you pick the sports news up? I'd like to know how the Rangers are playing, after all."

"As far as I know, the score is 2 to1 in our favor," was the answer.

"WHAT?! YOU SURE?!" the four other Rangers exclaimed at once. "This too was in—"

"This was!" Gadget nodded.

"And… and…" Dale began, "and… and who'll win?"

"Hmmidunno," Gadget parted her hands and shrugged. "That wasn't in my dream. But maybe it's for the best, don't you think? It will be much more interesting to watch this way!"

"Yeah, sure…" Monty drawled with sorrow. "Too bad we won't make it in time to see the match…"

"Why is that?" Gadget was sincerely surprised. "According to my calculations, we'll be at the Ice-Dome in ten minutes! The third period won't even have started by that time!"

"What?! Really?! Hurrah!!" Chip and Dale grew ecstatic.

Monty glanced at them and hemmed skeptically. "And 'ave ya thought about the tickets? They won't let us in there without tickets, mind you."

Both chipmunks instantly grew sad.

"Without what tickets? These?" Gadget asked, as she joyfully fetched five blue stubs from her inner pocket and made the rest of the team lose their gift of speech.

"But how… how?" Chip couldn't find a word because of the blasting mixture of surprise, happiness and admiration.

Gadget smiled that knowing smile again, but this time from sheer satisfaction. "Well, you know, while you were flying after all these parts, I allowed myself to—" the mouse dropped her eyes in confusion. "How to say it…looked through your things. Hope you aren't very angry about it."

"Angry?! Us?! Gadget, you are a pure wonder!"

The friends rapidly took their tickets and shoved them deep in their pockets to not let the wild wind snatch them accidentally.

"Well, if only I had my hockey equipment and stick, I'd be a real fan!" Dale said dreamingly.

"Look there, behind the seat," Gadget answered.

Dale lapsed into a daze at her words and started digging in one of the makeshift luggage cupboards. With each new pad he fetched out he grew brighter and brighter with happiness and in the end was only slightly less bright than a lightbulb.

"Gadget! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Gadget!" he prattled, putting all his hockey riches on.

Chip, having wrapped himself in the scarf found in the same compartment with Dale's clothing, looked at Gadget with his most rapturous gaze in history and she blushed heavily upon noticing it.

"Gadgie, sorry for indiscreet askin'," Monterey Jack said, alluding at the silver dome growing bigger in their sight, "but how are ya gonna land on it?"

"Don't worry, I have a theory."

"Which you tested in your dream, too, am I right?" Chip joyfully completed her remark for her.

"No, Chip, it wasn't in my dream. It's my own, self-made theory! Call it intuition!"

Chip's countenance changed drastically. "Intuition?! Ehm, Gadget, maybe you shouldn't…" He turned to his Australian friend. "Monty, don't you have any of your amulets to spare? By accident, you know…"

"TWO!" Dale interrupted, picking at the muscle mouse's sleeve.

"Golly, guys, you shouldn't be so superstitious!" Gadget burst out laughing. "Besides, what can possibly happen on a day like this? This should work with—"

"AAAAAAAAA!! LET US OUT OF HERE!!"

**14**

Just as Gadget predicted, they arrived at the Ice-Dome right during the break between the second and third periods. The score was 2-2 already, and all the intrigue was ahead. Going upstairs via one of the ramps specially built for the convenience of spectators occupying the second most prestigious seats, the Rangers took their places.

Benny Hilton didn't let them down — their seats were indeed the best. They were right across the center of the rink with a perfect view of two video walls in the opposite corners, on which they showed the live TV broadcast or, during the breaks, the best moments of the match.

Right now the replays of all the scored goals from every single possible and impossible point of view were repeated over and over on them, and Gadget once again felt the same tide of happiness rising inside of her when she saw a replay of the second goal scored by the Red Stars. She supported the Rangers with all the depth of her heart, but this replay and this scored goal was another proof that she had done it. That the plane hadn't crashed, and now absolutely nothing and nobody was able to ruin this sports festival…

"Don't swallow your pad, Dale!" Chip chided. "Let me hold your helmet for you! Are you sure you don't need any help? Maybe we should secure the mask somehow? Gadget, maybe you've got some more of your superglue, no?"

"You're going too far, Chip!" Gadget observed, although Dale's attempts to simultaneously eat the food he brought from the buffet, hold his helmet and adjust the constantly slipping mask on his face were indeed amusing.

"Don't pay attention, Gadget! He's just jealous 'cause he doesn't have real hockey pads!" Dale proudly answered and struck his fist against the handle of his seat, causing the mask to fall down on his face once again.

"But I have a scarf!" Chip parried. He waved the tip of the scarf at Dale, which then, absolutely accidentally, ended up on Gadget's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the chipmunk apologized and brushed the scarf aside with his paw. The scarf left her shoulder, but his paw didn't. Gadget stole Chip a look. He strenuously pretended he wasn't interested in anything but hockey, but his glance moved from the rink to Gadget from time to time, and when he saw her looking at him, he smiled and turned pink.

Gadget took his paw with her left hand and moved it over her head on her left shoulder. Than turned to Dale, already aiming at Chip's hat with a pad he took off his leg and placed his right hand on her other shoulder, then embraced them both.

"How do you like the match? The Rangers' play is excellent, don't you think?" she asked.

"Yes, Gadget, you bet!" chipmunks answered synchronously.

They exchanged jealous glances behind Gadget's back from time to time, but didn't proceed to more active moves. First, it was inconvenient to fight while being embraced by Gadget. And second, but most important, they both dreamt of this — to sit on the stands of the Ice-Dome watching the game of their favorite team and embracing their beloved mouse. And most of all they were afraid of all this being just a dream, the kind of one Gadget had experienced. A dream as real as it was ever possible, but nevertheless a mere illusion…

"Croikey, what the heck 'av' ya done?! Are ya blind or what?!" Monterey Jack yelled, striking his fist on the chair handle.

Two Ranger forwards tried to play the combination with cross passing in order to confuse the opposing players, but in the most crucial moment one of their sticks hit the track left by someone's skates. The puck's momentum became uneven and flew not to his teammate but right to the stick of the Red Stars' defenseman, who instantly passed it to his winger, who along with a center forward dashed into the wide breach in San-Angeles team's defense.

"They'll come out right on the goal! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Please, don't score!" Dale lamented.

It didn't help, though. With a series of short passes and deceiving lunges two Red Stars forwards confused the goaltender and the puck flew into the gates. The siren wailed, a red light twinkled, and 'red' sectors of the stands gaily jumped to their feet, shouting.

Among the Rangers' fans the picture was the direct opposite. Monty clutched his head contritely and Dale hit himself in the forehead causing his mask to fall down on his face again, and all the rodents sitting around the Rescue Rangers grew openly depressed.

"Don't worry, guys! Our team will surely score again!" Gadget tried to cheer up her aggrieved friends.

"Really? Are you sure?" Dale asked. "You saw that?"

"No, Dale, I didn't see that," mouse answered, "but I'm absolutely certain that this will happen, that the Rangers will win. You should only believe. Do you agree with me?"

"Sure, Gadget," Chip answered. "If you say so…"

"…then it's right!" Dale finished for him.

Dale snatched a moment when Gadget wasn't looking at him and put out his tongue at Chip. The chipmunks went on exchanging grimaces for some time, but then again became absorbed by the events on the hockey rink. The struggle was very serious. The San-Angeles squad emphatically attacked, striving to equalize the game as soon as possible, and the Michigan team concentrated more on defense, not forgetting to organize counterattacks at the first opportunity—their lead was just too shaky and unreliable to rest on your laurels.

Unlike the score 2-4, which appeared on the scoreboard in the thirteenth minute when the Red Stars scored a goal after a mistake by the Rangers forwards' and the massive counterattack which ensued.

"Our team 'as seven minutes to score two goals!" Monty shook his head in disbelief twisting his flying helmet with his paws. "Two goals in seven minutes against the Red Stars…"

"But that's not impossible, is that, Monty?" Gadget asked him.

The Australian scratched his head and answered: "Sure, there's nothing impossible 'ere in hockey. But look at them! How they're movin', how they're passin', how they shoot on goal! The Rangers are exhausted and almost broken already. Look!"

He pointed at the video wall, showing the Rangers' reserve bench. All the players sat there, gloomy and dispirited; some of them seemed to avoid looking at the rink at all. Even their coach who loudly shouted and pointed something out to the field players looked dismayed.

Gadget was looking at this and her heart was downright breaking. She had a poor knowledge of the NHL tournament structure, but knew that it's very hard to reach the Finals, and only a handful of players managed to have done it twice. All the Rangers without exception knew this too, and Gadget saw a parting with the dream in their eyes. She looked at the opposite side of the rink where a huge silver cup was standing on the specially made platform.

This is it — the top, the pinnacle of each hockey player's desires. The players of San-Angeles team too glanced at it from time to time and immediately, as if apologizing for the intrusion, averted their eyes. It stood so close, and at the same time seemed unreachable. Maybe, some other time, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

_They feel so bad _the mouse mused. They went through so much to play here today in this last deciding match. And what for? Just to stop one step away from the top and fall to the very bottom to start the long and hard journey from the very beginning?

Everything seemed to be against them in this match. All four goals they suffered were the results of some very bad luck. Ill fate, no less. They had reason to give way to despair. And if you recall that they, the official home team, had to play in a stadium that wasn't their home turf.

_Golly, that's it!_ Gadget realized.

She looked at the silent red-blue sectors of the arena, which too had already lost all faith and hope in their favorite team's success. _But that's what they need the most now! This is the most important and essential moment_…

"Ran-gers… Ran-gers…" she slowly began, each time crying it louder and louder. "Ran-gers. Ran-gers! Ran-gers!! RAN-GERS!!"

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" Chip and Dale joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" Monterey Jack and Zipper joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" those sitting around them joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" their whole their started to shout. Then the next one, then another one…

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" she heard from below.

Gadget looked there and saw the Rangers fans one by one standing up from their seats and starting to chant too. They certainly couldn't have heard the motto she initiated, but it was impossible not to feel the energy streams filling the Ice-Dome originating from the little gold-haired mouse. And gradually, one by one, all the fans in the blue-red sectors raised to their feet and their call echoed from the snow-white walls and filled all the spaces and reached the furthest corners of the sports arena.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!"

And the Rangers answered the stands. Answered in the one and only way a sports team can answer the unanimous and sincere support of its faithful fans. Like a tropical storm they tore off toward the opponents' gates. They started playing the way nobody played before and never will play in the future.

In this last seven minutes everything was working for them. Passes across the whole rink, outplaying several opponents at once, throws of laser accuracy. Their impetuous breakthroughs and passes literally shredded the Michigan defense, forcing them to feel nervous, make mistakes and play bad. But even the body-checks and blatant rules violations couldn't stop the Rangers. Not here, not today, not now.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!"

Less then two minutes passed before the red light flashed out beyond the gates of the Red Stars. In three minutes it flashed again. The visitors became totally brutal and rushed headlong, stopping at nothing. But there was a strong impression that the Rangers' gates were equipped with some kind of photoelectric cell-controlled automatic shutters or an invisible but absolutely impenetrable force field. All the pucks that the goaltender failed to catch flew just about everywhere but the gate behind him. The puck could hit the side-bar, cross-bar or cross-piece; could ricochet, hit the ice half an inch away from the goal line and rebound back into the rink. It could hit one side-bar, slide along the goal-line, hit the other side-bar and jump back right into the goaltender's trapper.

But not hit the net.

Sometimes its behavior seemed to contradict the basic laws of physics. But this was indeed happening, and the spectators in the stands, and with them the TV audience throughout the country and the world saw it. The events on the ice could already be called sensational, but this wasn't the end.

Four seconds away from the final siren the astonishingly beautiful and quick combination of the blue-reds forced the Red Stars defenseman to violate the rules. The offender was sent to the penalty box and both teams gathered around the faceoff circle near the Red Stars' gates. Despite playing shorthanded, the visitors set up such a dense defense that it seemed impossible to be breached even by today's Rangers.

Not in four seconds, in any case…

But on a day like this everything was possible.

The fingers of the linesman clenched and unclenched and the black disk started falling down toward the sticks eagerly waiting for it. Here it hit the ice, and two hockey players from the rival teams began their fierce fight over it.

4…

The Rangers' wing outdid his opponent for a couple of milliseconds and, having hocked the puck with the blade of his stick, threw it in the air right into the space between two hockey players running to help their respective teammates.

3…

The puck hit the ice and bounced up and right in the direction of Red Stars' gates. A player from the Michigan team attempted to intercept it but missed slightly and his stick hit the lower edge of the disk throwing it even higher.

2…

The puck rotated over and over and almost touched the ice of the arena where another Red Stars defenseman was ready to catch it with his stick, but the Rangers center forward ran up and abruptly pushed his stick forward, sending the puck in the gate's direction.

1…

The goaltender moved to his left, covering the corner the puck was flying into, but it touched the ice and brushed against some microscopic prominence. This threw it to the left and gave it additional angle, and the puck along the unforeseen curved trajectory flew first to the left, up and back, then slowly turned around in midair and flew to the right, forward and down, hitting the side-bar and going into the goal net.

The siren wailed, the telltale red light beamed and the digital clock on the indicator panel stopped, showing that 0 minutes and 0.2 seconds remained until the end of regulation.

"HURRAH!!" Gadget shouted, springing out of her seat. "VICTORYYY!!"

"HURRAH!!" Chip, Dale, Monty and all the spectators in their sector repeated jumping up too.

"HURRAH!!" The human fans cried out so loudly it seemed that the Ice-Dome wouldn't stand it and collapse despite all the seismic stability the structure's architects and builders put into it.

It was victory indeed. And though the teams still had to play out the last remaining milliseconds for the match to be officially finished, the commentators of all the leading sports channels and news agencies were vying with one another, trying to come up with the brightest, fullest and the most universal epithet. Sensational! Phenomenal! Unexplainable! Fantastic! Legendary! The Greatest in History! The Recovery of the Century! And hundreds and thousands more.

And when only zeroes remained on the score panel and the thunderous siren heralded the end of this truly epic match, when all the San-Angeles Rangers players rushed out on the rink throwing their sticks and helmets into the air, when blue-red sectors of the stands came alive and swayed like a heavy sea, Gadget fully realized what she had done and what she had prevented.

She saw the Rangers' captain lifting the huge silver cup above his head and the whole team drew up and made several laps of honor around the rink. She saw open-hearted and sincere rejoicing of her friends, which wouldn't be so unclouded and pure if they knew where exactly that Boeing had crashed, and it was one more proof that she had done right by not telling them this.

Down in the stands she saw the people who hadn't had any idea of each other's existence before this day. They had different trades, educations, financial positions. But nothing of it mattered now. The joy of their favorite team's heroic victory equalized and drew them together. Absolutely strange people embraced and congratulated one another. They were laughing, joking, discussing their impressions and arguing joyfully about the players or the most prominent moments of the game.

All of it was. It was now.

Bit by bit the blue-red human sea below began to blur, merging into one big spot. At first the mouse thought her eyes got defocused because of the floodlights' shining too bright and her watching the ice sparkling in their rays for too long, but then became aware of her own tears. She sat down in her chair, covered her face with her paws and gave free rein to all the emotions accumulated in her throughout all this very long day and which she couldn't afford to set free earlier.

"Please, Gadget, don't cry," she heard Dale's voice very close by her. "Here, take my handkerchief. It isn't too clean, but still…"

"Better take mine, Gadget!" Chip intervened immediately.

"Thanks, guys." she answered taking two presented pieces of cloth.

"What happened, Gadget?" Chip asked, looking into her eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Dale did the same.

"Yes, guys, everything's fine. Don't pay attention. That's because of happiness."

"I didn't know you liked hockey so much," Chip observed.

"I didn't know either!" Gadget answered, drying hermoist eyelids.

Chip looked at her, unable to avert his eyes. He could feast his eyes upon her forever, eternally astonished by seemingly incompatible qualities peacefully co-existing in this beautiful field mouse. In the morning, while she was clearly and sharply formulating the task of the rescue mission for them, expounding every action, sending them to have a rest, she looked unassailable and unbending, and the determination to go to the very last degree, all this and the willingness to face any given danger he distinctly felt in her.

Those like her led armies of many thousands to great feats, endowing each and every soldier with their unstoppable energy. And her mobilizing the stands of the crowded Ice-Dome was just another proof of it. Right now, with two handkerchiefs in her little paws, she looked so delicate, so tender and defenseless that your first intention would be to hold her and shield her with yourself against all the dangers and miseries of this cruel world, not worthy of such beauty.

So, what was that, actually? Was it the delicacy hiding the indomitable strength? Or was it the strength, as if the Gyrotank's armor, covering that very bright and vulnerable soul? Perhaps it was both, in perfect harmony. It seemed impossible, but it was, and Chip sat right next to her and embraced her now, feeling himself involved in a true wonder on earth.

**15**

"Where are you going, Gadget?" the guys asked, sitting around the big round table in Headquarters' hall.

"I'll take the empty plates to the kitchen!" Gadget offered.

"No need, luv, we'll do it ourselves!" Monty said.

"No-no, guys, let me do it! You've done so much by yourselves already, it's incalculable! Besides, maybe somebody wants something, if I—"

"Yes! More lemonade!" Dale's eager reply came.

"And a pack of cheese balls! No! Two!" Monterey Jack added.

"And you, Chip?" Gadget asked.

"Please, Gadget, don't bother yourself!" Chip said. "If I need something, I'll go get it!"

Dale took on a look of apology. "Yeah, Gadget, I'm sorry. I'll go get the lemonade all by myself!"

"All right then, cheese balls only? Got it! I'll be right back! Jiffy-quick!" she replied.

And Gadget, hands full of plates, left the hall. In the kitchen she placed the plates into the sink and released her breath in an explosive sigh, looking at the mass of unwashed dishes. Whatever you might say, the festive supper her friends organized in her honor worked out very well. Only once she sat at the table in the hall had she realized how hungry she felt. This wasn't surprising given that the whole previous month (that is, a 'normal' month) she spent on sandwiches only, and the last time she'd eaten anything today was early in the morning.

'The last two nut pretzels were indeed excessive…' she thought, sitting down on the stool which creaked lamentably under her current weight. Despite the grave tiredness weighing her down, now that she was here in Headquarters and it was all over she felt the urge to jump and dance. She still couldn't resolve all the reversals of fortune today (or todays) in her mind, time and again going through all that was done and undone.

She had never felt so before. 'Today's' operation was indeed her topmost achievement, her most important project, in comparison to which all her past adventures looked like everyday routine. Although in Bottlebottom her idea to win Professor Nimnul over to their side allowed the team to prevent the nuclear explosion and save many more people, it wasn't felt as pronouncedly as today, in the chock-full stands of the Ice-Dome Sports Arena.

Gadget rose and went to the hangar doors. Now the scope of the completed work seemed incredible—the huge number of modifications to the Ranger Wing, the general overhaul of the Plane, construction of the entire pulley system to transport the containers with the ARK. Then there was Airliner Rescue Kit itself, the building of which took all the framework of the new jet, plus all the pneumatic pistols for nailing up the grapples and all the Gyrotank's plungers. Even then the latter turned out not to be enough and she had to send her friends for four more. The Wing's landing bars remained glued under Boeing's wing. She'll have to restore everything.

_Maybe…_

"No, you will!" Gadget said to herself, confidently dismissing the compulsive thoughts that tomorrow everything would still be the same. "You did everything, Gadget! Fixed everything! Absolutely everything!"

Loud joyful shouts from the hall made her rouse. At first she didn't hear what exactly her friends were shouting, but then one of them—Monty to all appearances—ran up to the hall doors and yelled with all his might:

"Gadgie!! Our plane's on the TV!!"

The mouse inventor bounded upstairs, leaping across two or even stairs at a time. Her heart was jumping out of her chest and steam hammers pounded in her temples. Never before had the stairway between the lower and the middle floor seemed so long to her.

'Golly, no… Golly, no…' she kept repeating to herself, and dark imaginations drew the most infernal sights of the catastrophe. Paneling pieces and bodies floating on the water's surface — if the plane fell into the ocean. Vast areas of ground burnt out by the giant fire and sown all over with debris — if it crashed on the field or in the forest. Ruined houses and rows of fire trucks and ambulances — if on some poor unsuspecting town.

"Gadget! Luv! Come 'ere, quickly!" Monty shouted to the inventor as she darted into the room panting for breath. He pointed at the TV screen. "You gotta see this!"

Gadget turned her head slowly and gazed at the screen.

And saw her.

The giant Boeing 747 wearing her green-blue design of Northpacific Avia, illuminated by light coming from numerous floodlights, stood near a hangar belonging to the airline. People wearing uniforms stamped with the airline's insignia bustled around it like insects. Standing in the foreground were the local news reporter Stan Blather and a short curly haired man wearing a dark-blue jacket with the abbreviation NTSB written with wide white letters right above the upper left pocket.

"**This is Stan Blather, reporting from the Sea-City Airport. Today the incident took place here, which many of my colleagues have already labeled one of the most mysterious and unexplainable incidents of the century. Behind me you can see the Boeing 747 airliner belonging to Northpacific Avia airline, arrived from Lima earlier today. But what makes this plane so remarkable? We'll address that question to Connor Philips, special representative of the National Transportation Safety Board in Sea-City. Mister Philips, please, comment on the situation at hand."**

"**Thanks. First, here are the facts. We were informed of the incident almost immediately after this plane landed and went on site right then. It's still too early to say anything about any conclusions, but in short the situation looks like this. Today, approximately at 5:20 PM Pacific Time, this airliner, Flight NA10031 Lima—Sea-City, departed from the International Airport where she had made an intermediate landing, then headed to Sea-City.**

"**During the flight the crew on several occasions informed air traffic controllers about some strange malfunctions in engine number three's performance indicators, but all other systems worked properly and the plane safely reached her destination. It was already on the ground when a team of airport technicians found that engine number three had almost completely separated from the wing along with the pylon it was attached to. But it didn't fall off, held in place by some very intricate construct."**

"**Just a minute, Mister Philips! Tim, give us a close-up on the engine!"**

The image on the television screen started moving and the Rescue Rangers and the whole country saw it. There was a broad fissure between the pylon of the right inner engine and the wing, and the forward part of the pylon along with the engine visibly moved down. But the pylon hadn't separated in full — the ARK didn't let it. Its forward main arcs were visibly stretched, because Gadget had made their junction not solid but movable, with a reasonable margin of length which, according to her calculations, was enough to hold as much time as was needed for the plane to reach Sea-City. And the arcs didn't let their beautiful creator down.

"**Mister Philips, please, go on."**

"**Thanks. So, as you can see, it's indeed a very unusual and, dare say it, a very non-trivial device. In sum it consists of ten elements — six vertical or, as we named them, main bearings, and four horizontal, or auxiliary, straps. One end of the main bearings is attached to the engine's pylon, the other to the wing's undersurface. The attachments are made of suction cups. It's impossible to give more detailed information without careful study, but it's beyond any doubt that this device is made of improvised means, which can be found literally in each and every junkyard."**

"You're a 'junkyard' yourself!" Dale yelled in deep indignation, but the other Rescue Rangers hushed at him so loudly that the chipmunk almost fell under the table.

"**But where this construction came from?"**

"**That's the point! The technicians of the International Airport maintenance teams assert that when the plane arrived from Lima there was nothing like that on the engine at all. And when she was leaving the airport, too. Their statements are backed up by surveillance camera records."**

"**So you want to say, this device appeared literally on the fly, in midair?"**

"**All we can say for sure at the moment is that the ground technicians have no connection to this device whatsoever."**

"**If so, could it be a result of activity of some dark mysterious forces? Today's Saturday the thirteenth, after all."**

"**Not dark for sure. If it hadn't been for this device, the engine would have torn off and who knows what the consequences of that would have been. So in this case we should talk rather of the light forces' interference."**

"**Guardian angels, you mean?"**

"**Maybe, but one with a doctorate in mechanical engineering, or even two of them. I'll say that as an engineer. This is a masterwork of mechanics, and I'd love to meet whoever pulled it off."**

"**Thanks for that very detailed analysis, Mister Philips. Good luck to you and your colleagues…"**

"Guardian angels?" Monty thoughtfully twisted his moustache. "Know what? It suits us!"

"Guardian Rangers sounds better!" Dale commented.

"No, I think Rescue Angels is the best choice!" Chip corrected his friends and, looking at Gadget, added. "Besides, we've already got one angel here."

Gadget smiled in embarrassment. "Oh, come on! I wouldn't have done it without all of you!"

"Oh, and one more thing." Chip rose, came up to Gadget and gave her a smacking kiss in the cheek. "Congratulations, Doctor!"

"Thanks, Chip!" the mouse instantly turned red answered and returned him a kiss, causing the chipmunk to sit down on the floor in prostration.

"Yes, Doctor, congrats!" Dale ran up and fell on her neck, and in a second he was sitting near Chip in the same state. Chip and Dale exchanged peaceful looks at first, and then, after a short pause, jealous glances.

"Okay, guys!" Gadget said in cheerful tone. "Who wants to help me with all those dishes there?"

"Me! Me!" Chip and Dale darted out of the hall, pushing one another all the way down to the kitchen. When they left, Monty gave Gadget a mysterious wink and gave her a thumbs-up. The smiling mouse shrugged as she went downstairs.

**16**

Gadget woke up as usual—that is, at 7 AM, in her room, wearing her nightgown and covered with her blanket.

This wasn't strange a bit given that 'yesterday' she fell asleep just like that. After all, she hadn't gone to her bed for an eternity, and 'yesterday' just wasn't able to stand the temptation. But now, having awakened, she regretted this. Because, had she fallen asleep in the hall or in her workshop, for example, it would have been clear that today wasn't Saturday again. But now…

Gadget quickly got out from under the blanket and closely examined her jumpsuit lying on the chair. It looked just like any other jumpsuit thrown offhandedly on the nearby chair. No, that's not the proof.

With her jumpsuit over her arm, Gadget exited her room and knocked at the door to Monterey Jack's room. Silence. She pressed her ear to the door but no sound came out of there, though Monty often snored so loudly that the window panes shook. Gadget half-opened the door and glanced into the chink. Dark and empty. Just like on Saturday.

The inventor went to the stairs and no sooner had she stepped on the first step than she smelled the painfully familiar cheese aroma.

_Golly, no…_

She ran downstairs and froze at the very first glance at the hall. It was in perfect order. No broad table set yesterday for the evening feast. No black drapes she'd put over the windows, nor the slide projector.

_Ohmigosh…_

Holding onto the wall with her free hand, Gadget went to the lower floor, barely moving her rock-ribbed legs. The cheese scent was growing stronger and stronger. Certainly, it wasn't anything exceptional all by itself; it could be present not only on Saturdays but on the other days of the week too. But in combination with Monty's empty room and untouched hall…

Reaching the last step, Gadget came to a complete standstill, the jumpsuit falling to the floor from her unfeeling hands. From the opposite wall the loose-leaf calendar was staring at her, with 'Saturday, June 13th' written on its front page.

Gadget just sat down right there, on the last step of the staircase, unable to tear her gaze off these horrible letters and digits filling up all her conscience.

It was wrong.

It was impossible.

It was downright unfair, after all!

But it was…_it still was_.

"What else must I do?!" Gadget shouted at the height of her voice to the hated calendar. "What?! What?!"

She dropped her head down on her hands, folded on her knees. She was incapable even of crying. During these 'days' she had cried more than in a usual month, if not a year. Besides, no matter how many tears she'd shed, it wouldn't help anything. What can tears do when the saving of an entire Boeing and the Rangers' hockey victory wasn't enough? Nothing. Nothing and nobody will help her. Her worst fears had came true — she was trapped in this vicious circle forever.

"Gadget, what happened? You crying?" s familiar voice sounded nearby.

"No, Monty, I just…" she answered automatically and broke off instantly, for this voice wasn't Monty's. Gadget looked up and saw a red nightgown with yellow highlights. It wasn't Monty standing right in front of her.

It was Dale.

"Gadget, what happened?" the chipmunk asked again, sitting down on the step next to her.

"Oh, Dale! Golly—it's Saturday the thirteenth! You understand me?!" she grabbed Dale by the collar and shook him, making his head wobble from side to side. "Saturday, the thirteenth! Again! AGAIN!!"

Gadget let the chipmunk go and hid her face in her paws again.

Dale shook his head regaining his senses, and looked at the mouse rolled into a tight ball. Then he glanced at the calendar, then back at Gadget, back to the calendar—and with a wild frenzied shriek darted to it. He tore the upper leaf off and, having shredded it to pieces, threw the scraps on the floor.

"Bad day! Bad day! You upset Gadget!" he shouted, jumping on the heap of shreds and trampling them into the floor. Gadget sit stock-still, shifting her gaze back and forth from pieces of the calendar leaf to Dale stomping on them to the calendar itself, now reading 'Sunday, June 14th' written with wide red letters.

_Golly, can it be…?_

"Gadget! Oh boy, oh boy, Gadget!" Dale run up to her again, finished torturing the previous day's calendar leaf. "I'm sorry! It's my fault! I totally forgot to tear this page off yesterday! You know, there were so many things going on yesterday! Gadget, please, it won't happen again! I didn't know."

"Dale, wait," the mouse interrupted him. "So are you saying that today is the fourteenth?"

"Sure, nothing but."

"And what was yesterday?"

"Yesterday? Saturday, the thirteenth. You had that prophetic dream and we were flying through the city like a bunch of madmen gathering the parts for you! Then we saved the airliner, attended the hockey match, then returned here. Don't you remember it?"

"Golly, I sure do remember all of it! It finally happened! It's the fourteenth! It's the fourteenth!" Gadget hugged Dale and covered him with kisses, then grabbed him at arm's length and shook him her excitement. "Dale! Do you understand? It's Sunday! The fourteenth! Oh, Golly!"

Gadget left an overwhelmed Dale at the base of the staircase in a puddle of amorous glee. She ran skippingly upstairs back into the hall.

Dale, as red as his Hawaiian nightgown, sat there for some time resting against the wall just to make sure he won't collapse. "This case is sure strange, but it was worth it! Maybe it'll be worth it to forget changing the thirteenth day on the calendar next month too…"

Gadget didn't hear that, of course. She flew into the hall, jumped on the sofa and turned on the TV.

"…**And now about the weather. Today, on Sunday, the fourteenth of June, the weather will be fine and sunny, with no chance of rain. The winds are…"**

Gadget wanted to sing, dance, walk on her hands, run along the walls and the ceiling, but she was just too exhausted for that. So she just sat there on the sofa, listening to the weatherman's voice and keeping her eyes glued on the date in the corner of the screen.

'06/14'.

Four simple digits divided by a simple stroke. But still so many emotions were associated with them.

"Gadget, you forgot something."

The mouse turned around and saw Dale standing near the sofa, holding out the jumpsuit she dropped downstairs.

"Thanks, Dale, I didn't even notice!" she answered, collecting her clothes.

They were silent for some time, and then Gadget looked around once again and asked, "Tell me, Dale. When did you tidy up the room?"

"What do you mean? Oh, you mean the hall? We did it last night! You know, after your coffee we didn't want to sleep at all so we decided to have a small clear-up. We wanted to make it a surprise for you! You like it when everything's in order, don't you?"

"Yes, Dale, I like it. But, you know, it was so unexpected I almost passed out."

"I had nothing to do with it!" Dale waved his hands, immediately dismissing any possible suspicion. "It was Chip! It was his idea! And then Monty and Zipper supported it! It's not my fault!"

"Oh, Dale, no problem! Thank you all very much! Where are all the others? I thought I awakened the entire Headquarters with my shouting."

"They went for some food. Almost nothing remained after yesterday's fest."

"Wait, how can that be?" Gadget wondered. "But isn't Monty in the kitchen? Who's cooking then?"

"Me!" Dale grandly touched the tip of his red nose with his index finger then folded his hands on his chest.

"You?!" Gadget's astonishment was beyond all bounds. "Cooking? But you've never—"

"I've been the regular Sunday cook for a month or so now!" Dale had a tone of offense at Gadget's oversight but almost immediately slapped himself on the forehead. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you've been very busy last month."

"Then, Dale," Gadget exclaimed warmly to smooth her gaffe away, "pour me the biggest plate of the cheese soup you can, okay? It seems like I haven't eaten it for an eternity!"

"Oh, certainly, Gadget!" Dale brightened up. "For you everything will be by the highest standards!"

"I've no doubt!" Gadget laughed and, amused by Dale's repeating the words Monty had said 'once upon a time on Saturday' almost word for word, ran upstairs to her room. But she barely reached the top of the stairs when Dale emerged right in front of her as if from nowhere. The red-nosed chipmunk was in a hurry, so he climbed up to the third floor right along the wall.

"Gadget… you know…" he began, stammering and panting after his rapid ascent, hard pressed by emotion. "You know…there is…I wanted to say…today there will be…a grand concert of the band A-Kha…in our city! I have already looked for the seats…so I thought…maybe you will…maybe you will join me…I'm pretty sure you'll like it! That's it!"

"You know, Dale," Gadget smiled, "why not? If you're sure I'll like it."

"Oh well, basically I've heard only one of their songs, but if the rest aren't much worse then…"

Dale was saying something else, but Gadget didn't hear him. It couldn't be! She saw all those discs he had! Held them in her hands! Listened to them!

Or was it really only one long dream?

"Only one of their songs?" she asked at last.

"Oh, sorry. What did you say?" Dale reasked, having missed her words.

"How could you have listened to only one of their songs? You've got three of their discs!"

"How do you—" Dale began, but didn't finish the question, instead slapping himself on the forehead for the second time this morning. "Oh, that's from your dream, too?"

"Yes, right from there."

Dale paused, then anxiously looked around to make sure nobody was listening, despite the two of them being alone in Headquarters, and once he made sure the coast was clear, continued.

"Please, don't tell Chip, okay? He'll laugh at me!" Dale begged.

"Golly, Dale, if you ask, I surely won't tell him anything!"

"I knew you were a real friend, Gadget! So, you see, when I heard A-Kha's song in the movie about Dirk Suave, I had to get the album! It was so hard waiting until I could find it! At first I listened to it twenty times a day! Now it's less, obviously, but still sometimes, when the mood's right. Oh, yes, and then one day two more of their discs caught my eye. And so I thought that the band which had written the song for the Dirk Suave movie just couldn't write bad songs at all! So I brought these discs home, put the first of them, with the group photo on it, into the player…"

Dale broke off and brokenly moved his lower jaw from side to side. Apparently, he felt hard about saying what he was going to say, and Gadget felt her heart rate increasing.

"Yes, Dale?" She hurried the chipmunk trying to conceal her nervousness.

"And…you know, I…I was scared!"

Gadget was taken aback. "But there's nothing so scary there. I mean, what scared you?"

"You know, there, on the disk, at first there's silence-silence-silence, and then the lightning KABOOM! The thunder BOOM! The wind WUURRRHHH! I leaped up in fear, almost crashed through the ceiling! I turned the player off, came back to my senses and knew it wasn't for me. I don't quite like thunderstorms, you know."

"And what about the second disc?"

"The second disc? Oh, that's plain terrible! There's an airliner on its cover, so I thought if there's thunder and lightning on the first disc, then on the second some plane must be taking off. Or landing. Or even crashing—oh, excuse me!"

Dale hastily corrected himself as he noticed Gadget flinching at this word. "So I looked at them and hid to get out of harm's way…but," he added in much more cheerful voice, "I'm sure they wouldn't play anything scary like that during the concert, and if they do, I'll protect you!"

"Alright, Dale," Gadget said quietly. "I'll think about it. Thanks for the invitation. Uh, now, I need to…." She pointed at the jumpsuit in her paw.

"Oh, yes, certainly, sorry! And I'm off to the kitchen, making breakfast! The concert starts at six this evening! I'll be waiting!"

Joyful, Dale ran downstairs. Gadget followed him with a thoughtful glance, then slowly walked towards her room. _So, Dale didn't hear those songs. And those disks were in the farthest and dustiest corner of the shelving not because he was hiding them, but because he didn't need them. But if so, then it means that in reality_…

Gadget stopped in the middle of the corridor, once again going over in her mind through all the events she remembered lying on the sofa in the hall on that terrible night. She remembered Monty, whose room she was passing right now, and remembered his words. Then she turned around and looked at the stairway Dale ran down.

And heartily laughed at her own thoughts.

Why did she clutch at those disks? Were they really so important? No. These disks were just an appendage, a nice addition, but no more than that and they didn't play any significant role. And although without them she might have never understood anything, they were neither a requirement nor a sufficient condition. And the fact that Dale didn't listen to them didn't mean anything.

No, it did mean something. It meant that neither him nor Chip truly got by without them in her feelings.

Why do her feelings need to depend on them?

It's truly a pity that neither Chip nor Dale heard these songs. But it's very easy to fix. Much easier then repairing a Boeing on the move. If not her, then who will introduce the guys to the beautiful?

The concert starts at 6 PM.

_Then there's no time to waste._

17

"Here we go, Dale!" Monterey Jack proclaimed, tumbling into the kitchen with a large sack of procured meals. He barely squeezed through the kitchen door, not meant for a workload like this, and put his sack down on the floor and was going to rub the sweat from his forehead but froze.

"Hey, Monty, why did you stop? Go on!" Chip pushed him, closely following. Monty side-stepped and the chipmunk sidled past him into the narrow passage. He too placed his load on the floor close to Monty's and almost immediately froze in the same pose as Australian did.

The friends looked around the kitchen and were starting to suspect they came to the wrong tree. Everything around them was shining and sparkling; all the plates and dishes had been washed and sorted according to size and shape, standing in straight lines like on parade.

The table was covered by a clean white table-cloth; dusty curtains gave place to tidy new windows. All glass surfaces were clean and scrubbed of the slightest dirt, while all the polishing was swabbed to a mirror glitter. And in the middle of the kitchen, his or her back turned to the door, stood someone wearing a dark-blue linen shirt, a checkered apron and a towel tied around the head, laboriously washing the floor.

"I'm sorry, miss," Chip asked with polite cough. "This is Rescue Rangers Headquarters, isn't it?"

'Someone' gave a start and dropped his mop in surprise.

"You're the only 'miss' around here, Chip! And you shouldn't sneak up on people this way! Didn't your folks ever teach you to knock?" the stranger said in a harsh voice and turned around. Chip and Monty found to their astonishment the finely dressed stranger was none other than Dale.

"Dale, lad!" Monty exclaimed. "Is it you? What's with ya?"

"Oh, don't worry. I just decided to tidy up the kitchen a bit!" Dale answered and bent down to pick up the mop. Friends exchanged glances. It was so out of Dale's character that there couldn't be any doubt of something truly extraordinary happening.

Monty scratched his chin and, inclining close to Chip's ear, whispered, "Remember, Chippah? Last time Dale was cleanin' somethin' he turned out bein' an alien who took his shape!"

"You're right, Monty." Chip too changed to whispering. "Listen carefully. I'll ask a test question and you get ready with your sack. If I don't like the answer, I'll give a signal and you'll throw the sack on…on it. Got it?"

"Gotcha!" Monty acknowledged and freed his sack by pouring its contents out on the floor.

"HEY!" an enraged Dale left the mop and came up to the new pile of debris. "What did you do that for? Don't you know that spots from fruit are very hard to clean up?"

Chip and Monty exchanged glances again. Then Monty got ready with the sack and the Rescue Rangers' leader asked with a forced smile, "Dale, could you please answer one question?"

"What question? What for?" the chipmunk squinted in suspicion.

"What does Gadget like the most?"

"Me, of course!" Dale answered without hesitation.

Certainly, Chip expected to hear a different answer, but he just waved his paw telling Monty to put his sack down and carried the delivered food to the table. Without any doubt, it was Dale. _Looks like I hit him too hard with that D-hook yesterday_ Chip thought while unloading his sack onto the table and opening the fridge.

"By the way, Dale, 'as Gadget woken up already?" Monty asked, traveling back and forth along the kitchen, for he had to carry his load of goodies to the table in parts. "Not a sound's coming outta her workshop, and I was wonderin'…"

"Surely she has, at seven o'clock! Ate her breakfast, locked up in her room and hasn't come out yet. Something fell in there, but when I knocked she answered that there were no problems."

"At seven o'clock?! Locked up in her room?! Something fell?!" Chip exclaimed and almost dropped the grape he held on the floor. "Hope she isn't going to turn her room in her workshop's branch?"

"Well," Monty drawled in deep thought. "Considerin' how many things she has to restore after yesterday…"

Downcast, Chip lowered himself onto a stool and sank his head into his paws. What if Monterey Jack was right and Gadget will again lock herself up in the workshop, or rather, workshops, for a month or more?

_Why didn't I tell her yesterday, during the match? Why I kept mum? Why didn't dare? Fool! Fool!_ He scolded himself, clenching the brim of his hat in his fists. He again, just like always, put everything off until later, thinking that tomorrow—that is, today—he would have plenty of opportunities to tell her his feelings in a tranquil setting. And now she's unattainable again, encircled by that cold crystal wall…

"Ha!" Dale smiled, breaking into Chip's thoughts. "But she agreed to go to the concert with me today!"

"What?!" Chip jumped up as if someone shoved a scorching baking tray under him. "What did you say?! What concert?!"

"A-Kha's concert! She said she'd think about it! Hey, where are you going?!" Dale asked, seeing Chip heading to the doors full of determination.

"She won't go with you anywhere!"

"Why's that?!"

"I'll make her change her mind! You think we don't know what kind of music you like? Shouts, screams and noises! Gadget won't listen to that rubbish!"

"You're the only one shouting and screaming around here!" Dale got deeply indignant. "You've never heard A-Kha's songs, so you don't know what you're talking about!!"

"Right, I don't need to hear them! I had quite enough of Iron Goose, thanks!"

"Don't compare them!!" Now the red-nosed chipmunk got really mad. "You don't know anything! A-Kha is great! They wrote the theme song for the Dirk Suave movie!"

"So why didn't you say that from the very beginning?! That's what I call the best reason to avoid them like the plague!"

Dale flew into a rage and grabbed Chip by the collar of his flight-jacket. Chip did the same, and they raised fists to exchange punches.

"Chip! Dale! Guys! What the heck are you doing?! Stop it immediately!" Gadget's voice sounded from the doors.

The chipmunks turned there and instantly turned into two picturesque statues with raised hands, fallen jaws and protruding eyes. Even Zipper gave a wolf-whistle, and Monty, feeling himself dressed improperly, started absentmindedly reaching for a non-existent necktie.

And there was a reason for it.

For they had never seen Gadget like that.

Her beautiful golden hair was thoroughly combed and smoothly fell down, almost imperceptibly melding into a dress of the same or maybe a shade darker color, held on her delicate shoulders by thin straps. Two cascades of pleats, merged at the center of the collar, began from the straps. Each pleat fit so neatly and precisely they didn't obscure but on the contrary accentuated her figure.

The dress narrowed downwards to her slender waist and a belt of blue slightly lighter than her goggles but not so much as her eyes. From there the dress smoothly gave way to the skirt going down a bit below her knees. She also wore matching dress sandals that completed the outfit.

For half a day Gadget had rummaged through the trunks of her family belongings standing unsorted from the moment of her final move here and once she found the dress she liked most of all adjusted it to her own size. Now the light playing on the cloth and hair seemed to intensify from the slightest contact with them and the room momentarily grew brighter, as if the sun's particles if not the heavenly body itself had descended to earth and stood in front of them now.

And on the whole this was exactly the case.

"Pinch me, Chip…" Dale's voice was vague while he was asking, for it was rather difficult for him to move his lips and tongue right now. Chip, who literally had to compel himself to breathe, bonked him out of reflex and immediately returned the lifted hand back to its place in the air.

"Thanks…" the Red-nosed chipmunk said, coming to his senses a bit after the punch and asked, his voice still sounding strange. "Gadget, there's some holiday today, isn't it?"

"Well, Dale, today is the concert!"

"Wha…what concert?" the chipmunk gulped.

"What do you mean 'what concert'? A-Kha's concert, obviously! Today at 6 PM. You told me yourself."

"Oh, yeah…" Dale did his best to focus. "I forgot. Then I'm going!"

And he, still keeping his eyes on the mouse, began to rip Chip's hand off his shirt. Chip didn't let it go, though, for his arms were out of his control at the moment.

"Where are you going, Dale?" Chip asked, without looking at his friend even for a second.

"To prepare…for the concert…"

"Wait, I'm with you."

"Where to?"

"To the concert, obviously, where else?"

"No-no-no!" Dale shook his head so vigorously it seemed to unscrew off his head. "Don't go there! You won't like it!"

"Why's that?"

"You said you can't stand their music!"

"Well, you know, I think it's wrong to judge music without actually having heard it."

"I'll tell you everything! It's complete and utter chaos! Shouts, screams, noises, other nightmares! I know you won't be able to think while listening to it! Trust me; I know what I'm saying!"

"You know, I think I'll take the risk this time…"

Arguing in hushed but heated tones, the friends still holding onto each other sidestepped past Gadget and, having barely wormed their way through the door, disappeared in their room. The bustling which followed was so loud it seemed a whole herd of rhinos were in there with the two chipmunks.

"Well, Gadgie…" Monty regained his gift of speech at last. "That's just…just…"

"I've got too carried away again, yes?" Mouse asked sadly.

"God forbid, darling! You're simply magnificent! Even stunning, I'd dare to say! Ya know, while you were back there in yer workshop, the guys were plainly frightful to look at, I assure ya! And now it's pure heaven! Though I must say," he bent down to her and significantly whispered in her ear, "that next time you'd better warn us in advance. A week, a month, maybe."

Gadget burst into a deep laugh. "Thanks, Monty! Besides, I hope you and Zipper won't mind very much if I ask you…" she dropped her eyes in confusion.

The Australian knew her thoughts at once, smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "Sure, lass. I think me and Zippah will be two too many there. And besides, I'm too old for such music already. But you three just have to go there! The guys'll be happy and you'll 'ave some break at last. After all, this month was really hard for ya. And yesterday was one heck of a long and busy day."

"It sure was, Monty," Gadget nodded. "Very long. Way too long, I'd rather say."

"Yeah, that's what I'm telling ya! But you know, if you're goin' there, bring me a couple of Norwegian cheese slices. I haven't eaten it for so long."

"Wow, Monty, I didn't know you'd been to Norway! You've never told about it. What was there?"

"Where? In Norway? Oh, well, ya know…it's too long a story, maybe I'll tell it later someday, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you like." Gadget shrugged her shoulders and went on after a brief pause. "You know, Monty, I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. I would've been a goner without you."

"Oh, come on!" the Australian waved away the compliment. "That's nothing. Or, rather, that's the least thing possible I can do for my oldest friend and your father. Sure enough owe him for my life and about a half-dozen others. But I'm sure you would've made it without any help."

The mouse shook her head with deep conviction. "No, Monty, I wouldn't have. And don't argue with me, I know it!"

Monty had no other choice but to part his hands wide. "Well, if ya say so, lass. I won't argue ya outta it. Besides, I'm glad to hear that, honestly!"

"That's great!" Gadget laughed again, then glanced at the door to the chipmunks' room and wondered: "Don't you think they're preparing far too long?"

"Aw, don't worry about them, luv! They wanna look good for you too, ya know! But I'm pretty sure it won't take 'em as much time as it took you."

"I hope so too." Gadget nodded.

The chipmunks appeared right when she began to look at her watch impatiently. Chip, just as one would expect, had put on his austere black tail-coat, cleared out and ironed religiously for this occasion, along with a starched shirt and black bow-tie. Dale went with his Super agent Double-O-Dale's white tuxedo and cufflinks, polished to a glitter.

Gadget was surprised at first for she thought Dale will wear his loud green-pink stripped jacket but, remembering that A-Kha had written the music to one of the movies featuring Dale's idol, had to admit that it was indeed a very smart choice.

Chip, though, had quite the opposite opinion, just like always when it concerned his friend's tastes. "Why did you put all this on, Dale?" He kept asking poking his finger at Dale's cufflinks, belt, the red flower on his lapel and his broad bow-tie. "You'll spoil the whole concert all by yourself! Last time you wore that your stick-and-smoke cufflinks alone were enough to make Headquarters impossible to stay in!"

"Calm down, Chip." Dale waived him off. "You're just jealous 'cause you can't make anything like that!"

"And I don't need anything like that! I remember your flight ended up on the ceiling! I hope Gadget and me won't have to take you off some roof today!"

"Don't worry, I took out the spy copter and replaced my stink-and-smoke cufflinks with regular ones."

"Well, Dale, if it turns out you mixed them up—"

"But I decided to leave the camera! Smile!"

Dale turned to Chip and quickly pulled the edges of his bow-tie to the sides. Chip, who remembered the power of the super flash installed on the hidden camera better then he'd want to, instinctively backed off, covering his eyes with his right hand, but the tie in Dale's hands just clicked idly, having photographed nothing and blinding nobody.

"Aha! Scared you!" Dale exclaimed with joy. "I got you, I got you!"

"I wasn't scared at all!" Chip snarled, involuntarily turning red and burning with shame for having shown weakness in Gadget's presence.

"You were! I saw it!" Dale continued to giggle mockingly.

"Now it's your time to be scared!" the leader of the Rescue Rangers shouted and lunged at Dale. The chipmunk in the white tuxedo was ready for this, though, and they grabbed each other by the lapels, bumped into each other's nose and started to drill one another with harsh stares,

"Ahem-ahem!"

The loud half-cough made the chipmunks give a start and turn to Gadget. She stood right in front of them, arms folded in front of her and stomping her right foot. And the harsh look in her blue eyes from under her knitted brows bode no good at all.

"Sorry, Gadget, we're just…just…sparring for no particular reason!" Chip said, letting Dale go.

" It's not out of spite or whatever!" Dale added.

Chip and Dale began to chatter simultaneously while shaking off and setting straight each other's clothes right.

"It's in a friendly way! It's a joke, you know!" Chip managed.

Gadget's face smoothed out and her eyes shone again as her lips stretched into a wide smile. She stepped up to the chipmunks, put her hands on their shoulders as she looked into their eyes.

"Golly, guys! You are so wonderful!" Gadget said.

And she held them both to herself. Chip and Dale, taken aback at first, slowly, as if fearing to scare this beautiful fleeting image away, embraced the mouse and put their heads on her shoulders, burying their noses into her golden hair.

Monty tapped Zipper on the head. "Ya know, buddy, I think we should go warm the Wing's engines a bit. She's stood there for too long, and as for me…" Monterey Jack said, and he and Zipper left to the hangar and carefully, not letting even the slightest creak out, shut the door behind them.

Chip, Dale and Gadget didn't notice them leaving. They just stood in the middle of the kitchen in complete silence, on the same place as on that very first, most terrible Saturday. But for Gadget it didn't matter at all this time. She was happy, because she was right where she ought to be. In her rightful place, which she found at last, albeit after very long search.

Gadget could stay this way forever, embracing the best, the closest and the dearest creatures in the world. She felt their strong hands on her shoulders and brushed their thick fur with her cheeks, sensing through the thin dress the unified beat of the two dearest hearts she knew.

And anyone entering the kitchen now would almost physically feel the quivering of that thin invisible thread which made them something immeasurably more than just a team of restless warriors who fought evil and injustice. The thread, the durability of which neither Gadget with her vast knowledge of physics, mechanics and materials resistance theory, nor all the scientific institutions and laboratories of the world taken together with all their latest and most precise equipment would be able to calculate.

For love can't be measured this way.

This thread had been running between them from the very beginning, from their very first meeting in the old bomber, and it stayed there during all these years. She hadn't noticed it, but it was. Her happiness had always been at arm's length, but she had to go along a hard and winding road to find it. And she tore this vicious circle apart and went along it to its very end. It was her destiny, her fate.

She didn't need to choose anything anymore, for she had made her choice already. She made it many years ago, in the police station, when she said "Well. I don't have to get home right away…"

And now, in her friends' tight embrace, she knew it was worth it. Everything to the very last day, from the 'first' to the 'last' Saturday. It was a hard day indeed, but now the nightmare was over and the curse of seemingly unending time was broken.

But was it really a curse?

No, it wasn't. It was a gift, the most precious of all. The most unique chance to understand and correct everything, when all seemed to be lost forever. The chance to reach the end this way in spite of all the dangers. It was as if somebody guided her along the way, not letting her take a wrong step and perish. The fastened seat belt, the grass heap, Luke, Monty knocking out the door of her hospital workshop, the wind blast and the truck suddenly gathering speed—there was always something to save her. Or someone.

_Someone…_

"Thank you, daddy…" Gadget said quietly.

She herself didn't know why she had said that. Maybe she understood something. Maybe she'd felt it. Maybe she remembered Monty's words about a message from Geegaw. Nothing of it mattered now. She just realized she had to say it. And the moment she did it she heard the distant but at the same time nearby cracking of the engine, as if a plane took off not far away from Headquarters. It could certainly have been the echo of a dump truck driving through the park. Or the humming of the Ranger Wing's engines warmed up by Monty. But Gadget knew that wasn't the case. Beyond a doubt she knew it.

"What happened, Gadget?" an alarmed Chip asked.

"Is everything alright?" Dale anxiously inquired.

Gadget stepped a bit back and looked at their troubled faces. They didn't distinctly hear what she had said and considered it their duty to ask. To find out whether everything was alright, whether their help was needed. It was neither simple politeness, nor dry professional interest, but the greatest concern and sincere care. Just like always.

It was them.

Her Chip and her Dale.

Her Chip and her Dale who loved her, and whom she loved. She lost them several times during these 'days', but they finally returned. That is, they stayed. That is—oh, it doesn't matter. The point is, they were all here, close to each other. And though they are indeed very different, those two chipmunks and this one a field mouse, they were made for one another, and nothing will prevent them from being always together…

"Everything's alright, guys! Everything's perfect! It couldn't be better!" Gadget answered with her happiest smile in years, then turned around and took Chip and Dale under their arms. "Let's go! Or, God forbid, we'll be late!"

When you were wrapped in tangles

I was free

And when you were undecided

I believed

It's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

When you were filled with longing

I belonged

When you were weak from trying

I was strong

But it's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

The shapes that go together

You and I

Childhood winters

Come to me

Whisper softly

So tenderly

I know, I walked twenty-five miles to hold you

Just to find you'd moved away

When you were wrapped in tangles

I was free

And when you were almost blinded

I could see

But it's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

The shapes that go together

You and I

You and I

**THE END**

_Huge thanks to Dr. Indy for his heroic editing efforts and suggestions which helped made this story even better. Thanks to HawkeyeNFO for expert advice on the art of ATC communications. For all people who created movie "Groundhog Day" without which this story would have never appeared. And certainly for all the readers who got to this point! This story was quite an experience to write and translate, and I hope it brought you at least the same pleasure I had while writing it. Good luck everyone!_


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